


On RWBY Wings III: Reaper Flight

by sentinel28II



Category: RWBY
Genre: Action/Adventure, Air Force, Air combat, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 170,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentinel28II/pseuds/sentinel28II
Summary: It is the year 2001.  The Battle of Beacon is over.  Captain Ozpin is dead, as is Jaune Arc, Penny Polendina, and a dozen other pilots.  Joint Base Beacon is in ruins, and the survivors pick up the pieces in a world divided.  Yang Xiao Long is crippled, having lost an arm in the fighting.  Weiss Schnee is isolated, practically imprisoned in her family mansion in Germany.  Blake Belladonna is an emotional wreck, heading home to Menagerie to come to terms with the return of her former lover, the White Fang terrorist Adam Taurus.Ruby Rose has joined with the remaining members of Juniper Flight—Lie Ren, Nora Valkyrie, and Pyrrha Nikos—in a mission to track down who was behind the infiltration of JRB Beacon and the Vytal Flag exercise.  Now codenamed Reaper Flight, they are making their way to Japan, to meet with Leonardo Lionheart.  It is the same route that Ruby’s mother Summer took…before she disappeared.  And Reaper Flight doesn’t know who to trust, who their true enemies are, or even their friends…The Battle of Beacon is over.  The battle for the world is about to begin.  Welcome to Remnant...with a twist.
Comments: 138
Kudos: 60





	1. Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are again. It took me a bit to get back to this story, but the bug finally bit me earlier this week. It took a little longer than planned: it's hard to write with everything going on in the world right now. But hopefully I can get back into the saddle here. I hope to be able to update every 3-4 days.
> 
> Don't worry; I still plan on doing more silly, smexy stuff over on "Love Hurts." This is kind of a dark story arc, so I'm going to need plenty of humor to balance things out.
> 
> Now strap yourselves in, and get ready for another ride.

**_ON RWBY WINGS III: REAPER FLIGHT_ **

**_Part III of “On RWBY Wings”_ **

**_An Alternate Universe RWBY Fanfiction_ **

**_By Sentinel 28II_ **

_  
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: It is the year 2001. The Battle of Beacon is over. Captain Ozpin is dead, as is Jaune Arc, Penny Polendina, and a dozen other pilots. Joint Base Beacon is in ruins, and the survivors pick up the pieces in a world divided. Yang Xiao Long is crippled, having lost an arm in the fighting. Weiss Schnee is isolated, practically imprisoned in her family mansion in Germany. Blake Belladonna is an emotional wreck, heading home to Menagerie to come to terms with the return of her former lover, the White Fang terrorist Adam Taurus._

_Ruby Rose has joined with the remaining members of Juniper Flight—Lie Ren, Nora Valkyrie, and Pyrrha Nikos—in a mission to track down who was behind the infiltration of JRB Beacon and the Vytal Flag exercise. Now codenamed Reaper Flight, they are making their way to Japan, to meet with Leonardo Lionheart. It is the same route that Ruby’s mother Summer took…before she disappeared. And Reaper Flight doesn’t know who to trust, who their true enemies are, or even their friends…_

_Over the North Atlantic Ocean_

_23 May 2001_

“ _Gambol Shroud,_ Roughneck Approach. Switch to button three, squawk 1200.” 

“Roger that,” Captain Blake Belladonna replied, trying to relax as she switched over. It had been an easy enough flight from Naval Air Station Patuxent River, but it had been a long flight, and now the real challenge lay ahead of her. She squirmed in her seat, trying to get feeling back in her rear end. She smiled beneath the oxygen mask, remembering something Yang Xiao Long had said. _The Bellabooty._ Then that made her think of Yang, and Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee, and she didn’t need those distractions right now.

She looked out of the bubble canopy of her F-14 Tomcat. Around her, the scattered clouds glowed orange in the setting sun. She had been in the air most of the day, flying from eastern Virginia, out over the Atlantic Ocean, paralleling the distant and shattered shore of the Eastern Seaboard Dead Zone. By instinct, Blake kept her head moving around. This far out to sea, GRIMM were rare, but not unknown, and she was alone. There was no F-15 or Yang Xiao Long out on her wing: Yang was a cripple and the F-15, _Ember Celica_ , was a wreck somewhere in northern Wisconsin, near the still smoking remains of Joint Base Beacon.

Blake shook those thoughts off. Distractions got Marines killed. 

“ _Gambol Shroud,_ Roughneck. You are at twelve miles. Continue descent.”

“Roger.” Blake watched her airspeed, and dropped her flaps. At eight miles, she lowered the landing gear and arresting tailhook, and heard the satisfying clunk of locked gears. At seven miles, she broke out of the clouds and was rewarded with an impressive sight.

Below and ahead of her was the battlegroup centered around the USS _Ronald Reagan._ There were around a dozen ships, mostly destroyers that shepherded the _Nimitz-_ class nuclear aircraft carrier, with a handful of cruisers. The setting sun, now behind Blake, cast shadows across the waters and reflected off the steel gray of the Navy ships. She noted the sea was fairly calm, with only a few whitecaps, which meant the wind was steady. _Thank God,_ she thought.

“ _Gambol Shroud,_ call your needles.”

_Needles?_ Then Blake remembered. She looked at her glide slope indicator. The _Reagan’s_ approach radar sent out a signal that was picked up by her Tomcat, giving her a steer to the carrier. It made landing easier—as easy as carrier landings ever got. “Right and centered.”

“Concur.” That meant that she was on the glide slope.

Blake tightened her straps a little and tried to slow her breathing. She remembered reading a study done during one of the many wars since the Third World War. Naval aviators were hooked up to electrocardiograms to determine their heart rate on combat missions. Nothing, not even being shot at, sent the heart rate pounding like landing on the carrier. It made sense: a pilot was required to land a several-ton aircraft going nearly 150 miles an hour, if not more, onto a section of steel roughly the same area as a suburban house. Making matters worse was that the section of steel was moving—the carrier was sailing at thirty knots to keep a steady wind over the deck, and the motion of the ocean would cause that steel to move up and down. Blake counted herself lucky: the sea was mostly calm, and it was still light. Landing at night in bad weather—it had caused pilots better than her to get out of the aircraft, walk to their commanding officer, toss their wings of gold onto their desk, and quit flying altogether. 

The problem was, Blake had not landed on a carrier in well over a year. People would tell her it was like riding a bicycle and not something she was likely to forget how to do. Blake would respond that she used to fall off her bike a lot.

“ _Gambol Shroud,_ you’re at three-quarters of a mile. Call the ball.” It was a new voice, that of the _Reagan’s_ landing signals officer, or LSO. It was the LSO’s job to guide aircraft into for a landing. The LSO was part of carrier aviation from the beginning, when they used brightly colored paddles to guide in pilots. Nowadays, the LSO used a series of colored lights on the port, or left side of the carrier, the Fresnel landing light system. The green lights would show her relative motion and speed to the carrier, and the white light in the center—the “ball”—would go up and down to tell her if she was too high or too low. Too high and she would miss the carrier entirely, and take a waveoff, to go around and try again. Too low and she would fly into the water, or even worse, into the back of the carrier; both results were usually fatal. Attached to the stern of the carrier was a single strand of white lights, the vertical drop line; she needed to stay above those lights. Ahead, the carrier was already lit up for flight operations, which made things a bit easier.

“Tomcat ball, 7.0,” Blake responded. This confirmed to the carrier her aircraft type, that she could see the ball, and her fuel state—seven thousand pounds. Not a lot, but enough to go around a time or two if she needed to. This was blue-water operations, which meant there was no shore base to divert to. If she ran out of fuel, she’d have to eject to be rescued by one of the destroyers or the plane guard helicopter, orbiting well to her right. 

“Low,” called the LSO, and Blake saw she had dropped a little. She pulled back the stick and added some power to her engines. “Power.” She added more; she’d gotten too slow, which risked a stall. “Too much power, high.” _Dammit,_ Blake thought, pulling back the throttle a little and easing forward the stick. The carrier was now beginning to fill her windscreen, and she could see the white-shirted LSO in his little shack on the port side, next to the landing lights. “Steady.” The ball began to sink, and Blake resisted the urge to chase it, to dive for the deck. Besides being embarrassing, which no fighter pilot liked to do, a dive for the deck risked smashing into the steel and driving the landing gear into the aircraft, which was altogether bad.

A quick glance at the landing system—no waveoff lights—then the deck slid beneath her, a little too fast, but she didn’t dare pull off any power. She could feel the F-14 hit the slipstream caused by the carrier’s island structure, and then­ the landing gear hit the deck with a thump that jarred her teeth. She instantly slammed the throttles forward: if she missed all four wires, the F-14 would “bolter.” As long as she had enough power, she could just go around and try again. Not enough power, and the Tomcat would sail off the angle deck into the water. 

But then Blake was thrown forward into the straps hard as the _Gambol Shroud’s_ hook caught the number two wire. It was not a great landing—pilots aimed for the three-wire—but it was a landing. And just like that, she was aboard. The Tomcat deaccelerated almost instantly as the landing cable played out, and when she felt herself stop, she pulled the throttle back to nearly idle, raised the arrester hook, felt the cable let go, and began following the lead of a yellow-shirted crewmember to her parking spot, next to another F-14. She cycled the wings back and raised the flaps, and let the crew guide her to a stop. Blake sighed, leaned back in the seat, and relaxed. She’d made it. 

She ran through the postflight as she raised the canopy; a brown-shirted crewmember, a plane captain, helped her unstrap and safetied the ejection seat. Somewhat shakily, Blake left the aircraft for the first time in seven hours and stood on the deck. It moved, and Blake nearly stumbled. Solid ground didn’t move, but a carrier did on the waves. It was a little strange after so long ashore. 

The plane captain pointed her to the island; the _Reagan_ was getting to launch two other Tomcats on a night combat air patrol, so it was impossible to be heard. She nodded and walked towards the island, an apartment house sized slab of metal that contained the bridge, as well as various other command areas of the ship and the mainmast, which held a plethora of radars. She took a brief look around: the _Reagan_ was going to be her home for the next week or so. Then she turned back and glanced at her _Gambol Shroud._

It had survived the Battle of Beacon well enough. It was a F-14 Tomcat, and wasn’t: unlike the two F-14Bs that rocketed off the bow catapults, hers was a single-seat aircraft, the advanced technology in the _Gambol Shroud_ eliminating the need for a radar officer. It had other lumps and bumps the regular Tomcat did not have, and was painted a sinister black. While she had been at Beacon, it had carried no squadron markings, but during her time at Patuxent River, the red lightning bolts of VX-23 had been added to the twin tails. It gave it a little more character. She smiled a little: whoever had painted the tails had left her personal marking, a stylized white flame.

It felt so strange to be alone. Blake wondered what the others were doing. Especially Ruby, who at least was still flying. Yang faced long months of rehabilitation, and Weiss—there was no telling what Weiss was doing.

She reluctantly turned and entered the island. The noise died as a crewman dogged the hatch shut, and she took off her helmet. “Let me help you with that,” the crewman said, and Blake looked up into the eyes of Sun Wukong. 

_Near Twin Falls_

_Idaho, United States of Canada_

_30 May 2001_

“Twin Falls to any aircraft. Help us!”

_In the clear,_ Ruby Rose thought. That meant they were in trouble. “Twin Falls, Reaper Lead,” she called out. “Just hold on. I’m supersonic; I’ll be there in thirty seconds. Raid count.”

“Reaper Lead, Twin Falls. Raid count is four Beowolves and one Ursa.” The voice calmed down a little.

That didn’t sound like much, Ruby mused. Then again, Twin Falls was lightly defended. It wouldn’t take a lot of GRIMM to do a lot of damage. “Roger that.” 

She hated to do it, but Ruby switched on her radar. She was at 30,000 feet, above the GRIMM ceiling, but they would still detect her radar signature. Still, she needed to know where they were. She looked at the radar screen, set at eye level below the Heads-Up Display; Ruby smiled, because it was something else she liked about the new F-16C _Crescent Rose;_ in her old aircraft, she would have to look down to see the radar, which took her eyes off the sky around her. “Bingo,” she said aloud. The GRIMM were in line-abreast, four Beowolves across as they came in to strafe Twin Falls yet again. She didn’t see the Ursa, so she adjusted the sweep. _There._ It was following about ten miles behind the Beowolves. That meant she’d get at least one free shot at the Beowolves, but she’d have to be fast.

Ruby’s smile widened. Fast was her specialty.

She settled back in the F-16’s inclined seat, ran her eyes across her instruments, and dropped back to subsonic speed. A quick button push selected one of the two AIM-9 Sidewinders on the wingtips of _Crescent Rose_. “Reaper Lead, tally-ho on four Beowolves,” she called out. 25,000 feet below her were the four GRIMM. Dark-painted, they were hard to see against the background of the Idaho scrublands, but Ruby’s eyesight was already legendary in the USAF. “Here we go!” She punched off the underfuselage external tank, pushed the stick to the left and down, while she lightly pressed the left rudder pedal. 

The F-16 rolled and dived, trading altitude for speed. The Beowolves would notice the move, but they would also notice she was rolling away, and would concentrate on their strafing run. _Thanks, Professor Port,_ Ruby thought, remembering the lessons given back at Beacon. _Hold on, hold on, hold on—now!_

Ruby suddenly rolled hard to the right, feeling the G-suit grab her around the middle and squeeze as it fought against six times the force of gravity to keep blood in her brain. _Crescent Rose_ was now on the flank of the Beowulf formation, faster than their computer brains could react. A light pull of the trigger as the missile’s seeker head growled in her helmet, and the Sidewinder snaked out and hit the first Beowolf just behind its bulbous head. The straight winged drone exploded and became a comet of flame. “Reaper, splash one!” Ruby yelled in triumph. It was short-lived triumph, because now she was still facing four more GRIMM, and she was alone. Even as she watched, the three remaining Beowolves broke off their run and turned into her. 

Ruby opened the throttle and tapped a button with her thumb, dropping two flares behind her, just in case, waited a precious second, then once more pulled hard right, grabbing a bit of altitude in the process. This turn was tighter, and Ruby puffed, tightening her stomach muscles with the G-suit. _If I ever have kids I’m going to be great at giving birth_ , she thought idly—the muscle exercise was similar—and leveled out, now behind the GRIMM. A quick tap on the stick, and she selected a longer-ranged, self-guiding AIM-120 AMRAAM. “Reaper, Fox Three.” She’d forgotten to give a Fox call earlier; not that it really mattered, since she was by herself. The AMRAAM shot off an underwing rail, immediately locked onto the second Beowolf, and a half-second later, there was another blossoming explosion. “Reaper, splash two!” 

Once more, the GRIMM turned back into her, and once more, Ruby used the F-16’s phenomenal turn rate to roll away, accelerate, then turn hard back into her foes. This time, however, the GRIMM weren’t so easily fooled. The two remaining Beowolves had not followed her into her turn, but had reversed theirs. Now they were head to head. Ruby saw a flash of light, and her Radar Warning Reciever warned of a lockon. She pumped the countermeasures switch again, now sending both flares and aluminum foil chaff behind her, and the RWR switched off as the GRIMM’s missile shot past, chasing a chaff ghost. Ruby went back to her last Sidewinder, and fired as the Beowolf grew in her windscreen. It hit the GRIMM head on and blew it apart. “Reaper, splash three!”

The other Beowolf broke off the attack and dived away. Ruby didn’t follow it; the Ursa was still out there somewhere, and it had to be getting close, perhaps even now swinging in behind her. She didn’t want to be the meat in a GRIMM sandwich, so Ruby turned again, noting idly that she was about a thousand feet above the burning city of Twin Falls below, and climbed away, back up to 30,000 feet. The GRIMM would probably try to follow, but for unknown reasons, their programming would not allow them higher than 25,000 feet. She looked to her left—and there was the Ursa. If Beowolves were the cannon fodder of the GRIMM, the Ursai were the shock troops, designed for ground attack, with a heavy cannon that could still shred a fighter, along with the standard two underwing missiles. They were also better armored, so she switched back to AMRAAMs; she was out of Sidewinders anyway.

Ruby’s eyes narrowed. There was something not quite right about the Ursa. The Ursa was essentially an upscaled Beowolf, but this one was bigger, perhaps, and instead of straight wings, it had swept wings. Her eyes widened when she noticed it was climbing towards her, and it wasn’t leveling off at 25,000 feet. _Oh shit. That’s that new GRIMM that was reported,_ she thought in shock. _The Beringal._

Whatever it was, it was coming straight at her, so Ruby turned into it. The speed closed too fast for the AMRAAM, so she switched to guns. It would be a tough shot, down the throat, but Ruby was confident she could make the shot.

So was the Beringal. Just as Ruby’s finger started to squeeze the trigger, red tracer reached out from under the nose as two cannon sent shells towards her. Ruby broke hard, but _Crescent Rose_ shuddered from a hit, and the stick nearly jumped out of her hand. She stomped on the right rudder pedal to stay in the break, and climbed. A quick glance behind, and the Beringel was following. It could turn tighter than its straight-winged cousins. As she watched, it fired a missile at her. She dumped flares and broke left, then right again, breaking the lock, but the GRIMM was still on her, relentless. Ruby made a quick scan of the instrument panel: no fire lights, no warnings, gauges were where they were supposed to be. Whatever had been hit wasn’t vital…she hoped. 

Ruby looped and rolled, but the Beringal stayed on her tail as if it was welded to it. Twice its guns spoke, and twice she’d somehow dodged the fireball tracers. They lost altitude, and Ruby had an idea. She suddenly leveled, did a quick check of the ground below, waited until the Beringal closed, then suddenly pushed over and dived. A glance at the mirrors in the canopy bow showed the GRIMM following her in the dive. “Okay, Grimmy,” Ruby said, “let’s see if Salem programmed you with balls.”

Ruby divided her attention between the Snake River rushing up at her and the ground to either side, and the Beringal diving after her. She prayed she’d timed the pullout right, and pulled back on the stick. _Crescent Rose_ came out of the dive, and Ruby had the disconcerting sight of the ground rising above the canopy as she shot into the canyon, the F-16 blowing spray away from one of the falls that gave the town its name. Then there was a hard turn to keep from plowing into the canyon walls, and another glance at the mirrors. “Holy shit!” Ruby exclaimed. The Beringal was still following her. 

Then almost as soon as she finished one turn, she had to make another. A steel bridge loomed in front of her, a graceful arch over the river. She sideslipped a little and ducked under it, then climbed out of the canyon, which was getting entirely too dangerous, even for her. Ruby looked behind her, and saw an explosion on one of the arch supports of the bridge. The Beringal had made its turn a fraction too late, hit the unyielding bridge, and was torn in half. Pieces skipped into the river.

“Whew,” Ruby breathed, feeling the sweat tricking down her back. “Reaper, splash four.” She began a circle over Twin Falls, to get her breath. 

Then she remembered the last Beowolf. It was charging across the city towards her. She turned into it, but knew she was too late. Without warning, the GRIMM broke off its attack and turned north. A second later, a tiny meteor streaked out of the sky, and there was one last explosion for the day.

“Reaper Two. Splash five.” Ruby came out of her turn, and a second later, saw a F-22 Raptor come out of a shallow dive. Pyrrha Nikos rocked her wings as she went past. 

“Thanks, Pyrrha,” Ruby said. That had been a bit close. “Twin Falls, Reaper Lead. All GRIMM destroyed. You’re clear.”

“For now,” the anonymous voice at the Twin Falls airport replied. It had been the third attack in two weeks. “Thanks, Reaper. Thank you so much. That was a hell of a show.”

“Easy day, Twin Falls,” Ruby said with more confidence than she felt. She turned east as Pyrrha slid into position on her right wing. “Sorry, Pyrrha,” she called to her friend. “Didn’t have time to wait.”

“That’s okay.” Pyrrha was very understanding. “RTB?”

Ruby looked at her fuel gauge. “RTB. I’m bingo plus one.” They had to return to base, or Ruby might not make it at all. Dogfights used a lot of fuel, and she was exhausted. 

They headed for home. 


	2. It's a Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salem's faction begins planning for their next move, but Ruby Rose's existence poses a threat, so she needs to be eliminated. However, that assumes that Ruby survives her next GRIMM encounter with the Geist.
> 
> And then there's Pyrrha...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's quite the change between writing the silly fluffiness of "Love Hurts" and the grim 'n' gritty of this story. So the chapter may be a bit disjointed--the Geist fight isn't as long as I'd hoped it would be, but it was hard adapting that to this AU.

_Mount Yamantau_

_Ural Mountains, Russia Dead Zone_

_30 May 2001_

"I can't believe this place." Mercury Black looked out of the huge picture window. Below, in the open bowels of Mount Yamantau, was a gigantic production line that stretched nearly out of sight, four across. He could see at least thirty Beowolves in various states of production, worked on by human beings and robots. Sparks shot up into the air as the latter welded wings to fuselages.

"It is rather impressive." Both turned to Arthur Watts, sitting across the chamber and a long table from them. "Considering the technology that Salem found here, she's done quite the job over the past forty years. It's become more automated and computerized, of course. The power is drawn from various hydroelectric sources." He smiled beneath his impressive mustache. "Clean energy. Must not harm the planet, eh?" Neither replied, and neither looked impressed. Somewhat disgusted, he pointed to two chairs. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Mercury shrugged, not in the mood for an argument, turned, and nearly fell off his crutches. Emerald Sustrai, who had been standing next to him, reached out and caught him. He thanked her with a smile. His legs were still healing, and still swathed in plaster after being shot in both of them during the Battle of Beacon. Both of them walked over and sat down next to a wheelchair; Emerald made sure she was the closest to Cinder Fall.

Cinder was dressed in a long, flowing _cheongsam_ , which looked a little out of place among the more functional outfits around the table. It was for comfort. Her black hair was combed down to hide the ruin of her left eye, still bandaged, but although it covered the unsightly bandage, burn scars wound their way out of the eye socket to the bridge of her nose and up her forehead. Her hair also hid the scars across her cheek. The right side of Cinder's face was still stunningly beautiful, but Emerald knew the left side was a horror of skin grafts and scarred tissue. Her left sleeve hung loosely and empty. She should still be in bed, but Cinder had insisted that she be here. She lay back in the wheelchair, her remaining eye closed, breathing shallowly into the oxygen mask, the hose disappearing behind her to an oxygen tank.

Watts regarded Cinder with a mixture of pity and contempt. Her injuries were terrible, and he supressed a shudder at the thought of being on fire from jet fuel; Cinder was lucky to be alive at all. On the other hand, he couldn't help feel a little bit triumphant. His part of the mission had succeeded, after all, beyond expectation: he'd destroyed Project Paladin, unleashed the Black Queen computer virus, and gotten the White Fang to Beacon. Before the mission had begun, Cinder had been overconfident and arrogant, and it was icing on the cake to see her brought down a peg. The eye suddenly opened and she glared at him, as if she'd heard him thinking. Watts casually returned the stare. "Hazel, what's your favorite Depeche Mode song?"

The big man sitting next to Watts had also been sitting with his eyes closed, but now he opened them. He was well over six feet, with the muscle to match, the black hairs on his arms like steel wires. Hazel Rainart gave Watts a glare of his own.

Watts smiled, still returning Cinder's stare. "Mine's 'Enjoy The Silence'." There was a faint growl from the oxygen mask, and Watts waggled a finger. "Now, now, Cinder. Don't hurt your throat. Your lungs are still scorched as it is." He twisted the knife a little more. "I still can't believe that Ruby Rose—ramming your fighter."

"Oh, I've done it." They turned to look at the sixth person in the room. Tyrian Callows nodded, his feet up on the table. "You just aim your plane at the other and _bam!_ Much easier with bombers and airliners; not so easy with fighters." He grinned down the table at Cinder. There was no love lost there either, but then again, no one at the table liked Tyrian. True psychotics had that effect. Most fighter pilots played the game of pretending they shot down aircraft rather than other human beings, and rare was the pilot that wasn't at least satisfied that their opponent had bailed out. Rarer still was the fighter pilot that gunned down their opponents in their parachutes. Tyrian did it with such regularity that his so-called compatriots considered him more of a serial killer than a fighter pilot.

Cinder leaned forward towards Watts and tried to speak. Frustrated, she pulled down the mask, taking a breath of untreated air and coughing. She tried to speak again, but only coughed once more, and this time a bit of blood flecked the table in front of her. Emerald grabbed the mask and put it back on, and Cinder took deep draughts. Watts leaned over the table, cupping a hand to his ear. "What's that? What were you trying to say?" Tyrian dissolved in laughter, Emerald threw Watts a look that promised death, Mercury sighed, and Hazel ignored the entire scene.

Then the door opened. "All rise!" Hazel barked, and all but Cinder stood, coming to attention.

Salem walked in, covered neck to unseen feet in a black cloak. It hid her body, though the cloak clung to a figure that belied the fact that the woman who wore it had to be pushing sixty years old. Her gray hair was the only indication of age, pulled back into six braids that surrounded her head like a halo; her face had no wrinkles, the lips full and bloodless. It was always the eyes and the skin that took people aback: the eyes were a blood red, the skin alabaster. No one knew why Salem looked like this; closer inspection revealed it was not makeup or contacts, but her natural features.

She glided around the table to the head of it, where a more high-backed chair than the others awaited. Salem sat, and the others followed. She folded her hands in front of her and faced Watts. "I heard your words in the hall." Her words were accentless English. "Do you find such malignance necessary?"

Watts hesitated, then backed down. "I apologize, ma'am. It's just that I'm not fond of failure."

"Nor am I. But no one failed, did they, Comrade?" It was one of the few holdovers from the Soviet Union that Salem favored.

"She didn't recover the Fall Maiden," Watts argued.

"True, but I anticipated that the Fall Maiden might not be recovered. It was enough that it was used, revealing that the United States has orbital weapons—an acute embarrassment for the nation. Even now, other nations of the world are demanding an explanation from President Shawcross. All this in the first year of his Presidency." Salem shook her head with mock sorrow. "And it's all hypocrisy. The other nations have their Maidens, but of course they cannot and will not reveal them. After all, we can't have a reprise of Mutally Assured Destruction, can we?" Watts noticed a slight tremble in Salem's fingers. It was quelled in a moment, but it was there. "So our poor Cinder did succeed, even without retaining control of the Fall Maiden. And of course, she also ensured the death of poor, sweet Ozpin." Despite the affectionate words, Salem's voice was pure venomous hatred. And like the tremble, it was gone as soon as it arrived, and her voice returned to its normal, even friendly cadence. "So what failures, Doctor Watts?"

"There is Ruby Rose," Watts said.

"What about her?"

"She has silver eyes."

Hazel spoke up. "We've dealt with so-called silver-eyed warriors before."

Salem shrugged. "She's merely a child."

"Still, she is a threat," Watts insisted. "There was a reason why you sent out bounty hunters to kill the others."

"I am quite aware of that," Salem snapped. "And I am quite aware of what silver eyes means." Watts opened his mouth, but Salem raised a hand. "Enough. Cinder—and Mercury and Emerald—" she nodded at the other two "—did well enough for me, which means they did well enough for you, Doctor. Now, let us move on to other business." Salem leaned back in her chair, resting her head on a hand. "Cinder, you will stay here. It will be some time before you can travel, let alone get back into the cockpit. And we must fit you with your new arm." Cinder shuddered. That meant yet another session under the knife, and more pain. Emerald quietly reached over and put her hand over Cinder's remaining one.

Salem glanced at Watts. "Doctor, you'll take Cinder's place for Phase Two. I want you in Japan to meet with our informant."

Watts knew he'd hit the limit on far he could push. He'd wanted to return to Europe, but Japan was good enough. For now. "Very well," he nodded.

"Tyrian, you'll return to the Remnant to continue your search for whoever possesses the Spring Maiden."

"If it works, or even exists," Hazel put in. The Spring Maiden was one of four orbital weapon platforms, each codenamed for a season. The United States possessed the Fall Maiden, the European Union the Winter, and Japan the Summer. Israel was supposed to have the Spring Maiden, but it malfunctioned. For the handful of people in the know about the Maidens, the Spring Maiden was assumed to have burned up in the atmosphere years previous, but Salem was convinced it still existed, and someone had access to it—and it wasn't the Israelis.

"It exists," Salem said. "Tyrian?"

He grinned maniacally. "Gladly, Your Highness." That was yet another disconcerting thing about Tyrian Callows, Watts reflected. Salem did not stand on titles, and never insisted that anyone call her anything by her name or ma'am. Tyrian regarded her as royalty, and his loyalty was fanatical.

"Hazel, you'll go to Menagerie. Adam Taurus has arranged a meeting between you and Sienna Khan. He's proven to be quite loyal to the cause." Salem smiled. "Ensure that Miss Khan feels the same way."

"All right." Hazel looked less than happy, but none of them in the room had ever seen him smile.

Cinder raised a hand, tried to speak through the mask, and failed. She gripped Emerald's hand, and the other woman leaned close. Cinder rasped something, and Emerald straightened. "Miss Salem, Cinder wants to know…what about Ruby Rose?"

"What about her?" Salem repeated. "There's no time for vendettas, Cinder, even if you were in condition for it." Cinder gritted her teeth, and the older woman sighed. "But I see I'll get no use out of you until something is done about this. Very well. Tyrian, the Spring Maiden can wait for now. Find this Ruby Rose. Last we heard, she was at Hill Air Force Base in Utah, preparing for transit to Alaska. You should find her somewhere along the way." Tyrian nodded happily. "Shoot her down. She's alone; it shouldn't be too difficult." He clapped his hands. "But first, contact Raven Branwen's pirate band. I want this Ruby Rose alive. Raven can arrange transport for Miss Rose back here. We'll use the same plan we did for the last holder of the Fall Maiden—the Amber woman." She stabbed a finger on the table for emphasis. "Alive, Tyrian."

Tyrian's smile faded. "Why?"

"Because I say so," Salem replied. Tyrian instantly bowed his head. She turned back to the table. "No more recriminations, ladies and gentlemen. Beacon has fallen. Japan is next."

* * *

_Near Pocatello_

_Idaho, United States of Canada_

_31 May 2001_

Pyrrha Nikos fought down a yawn. She needed sleep, desperately. So did all of Reaper Flight. Ever since arriving at Hill AFB a week before, it had been one scramble after another. Whereas the Mississippi River Barrier had been breached by one titanic GRIMM attack, the attacks on the Snake River Barrier were nickles and dimes: constant attacks designed to wear down the defenders. The GRIMM attacks here killed by inches, rather than in one big attack. It would not grab headlines like the Battle of Beacon had, it would not cause Congressional investigations; it would achieve the same effect through attrition and exhaustion. They had been supposed to leave four days ago, but the constant GRIMM attacks had caused Reaper Flight's authorization to be pushed back.

That said, this was due to be their last patrol from Hill. As much as the wing commander of the 388th Fighter Wing wanted Reaper to stick around, he'd finally gotten orders from the Pentagon to quit holding the flight up. Pyrrha could not blame him for the delay; she wouldn't let skilled graduates of Vytal Flag to leave either.

It was a repeat of the patrol from the day before: Ruby would go ahead of the flight, operating singly to see if any GRIMM were around. If there were, she'd lure the GRIMM away from settlements and back towards the rest of the flight, where Pyrrha, Ren and Nora would spring an ambush. It had worked before; Ruby had just gotten overzealous the day before. Pyrrha had noticed that tendency in her friend and flight leader. It was something that bore keeping an eye on: she would never admit it, but Pyrrha suspected that Ruby was taking out her frustrations on the GRIMM.

"Reaper Lead to Reapers! I got some GRIMM!" The call broke into Pyrrha's thoughts. "Bringing it back to you!"

"Ruby, Pyrrha," she radioed back. "Identification on GRIMM?"

"Your guess is as good as mine!"

That was disconcerting. They'd run into the Beringal the day before, but that had been seen before. If this was something new…Pyrrha switched on her radar. She quickly picked up Ruby, headed down from the northwest at considerable speed, but nothing else. "Ruby, Pyrrha—where is it?"

"Right behind me!" Even through the radio, she could hear Ruby's labored breathing, which meant she was pulling Gs.

"No joy on the GRIMM," Pyrrha reported.

"Ren here. No joy either." He wasn't picking up the GRIMM.

"Defensive split," Pyrrha ordered. She and Ren broke high, climbing to grab altitude, while Nora descended into low altitude, where her A-10 excelled. "Ruby, we have no joy on the GRIMM."

"No shit!" Ruby shouted back. "I'm not getting anything either, but it's trying to kill me!"

Pyrrha dipped the wing of her F-22, and looked. It was a beautiful afternoon over Idaho: behind her was the city of Pocatello and the Snake River; ahead was the blackened expanse of the Craters of the Moon. It would be the perfect place to shoot down a GRIMM before it reached civilization. If they could see it.

_There!_ Pyrrha squinted. The F-16 flew out of a cloud, twisting and turning. A second later, a Nevermore followed. _No,_ Pyrrha corrected herself, _that's not a Nevermore. It's smaller, more streamlined, like a B-1 rather than a B-2._ She checked her radar. Her Raptor carried a synthetic-aperature radar, the best available in NATO, but even it was not getting a return. _It's like a ghost._ "And that's what we'll call it," she said aloud, and switched frequencies. "Haisla, Reaper Four."

"Reaper, Haisla," responded the controller aboard the E-3A AWACS, orbiting over the Great Salt Lake to the south. "Are you engaged?"

"Roger that. Classify target as new type of GRIMM, codenamed Geist. Does not appear on radar. May be some sort of heavy fighter or fighter-bomber. Reaper is engaged, out."

"Reaper, Haisla, understood, listening." The AWACS would not break into their radio chatter unless necessary, or if Reaper needed help.

Ruby went past her, the Geist still in pursuit, but it had not noticed either Nora or Ren. Nora climbed, rolled out behind the GRIMM, and fired a Sidewinder. Pyrrha watched it sail past. Next was Ren's J-10, diving from above. He fired an AMRAAM, but it too didn't guide. "Missile trashed!" Ren called.

Ruby, now clear from the Geist, climbed and turned back around. "Sorry…didn't have time…" she puffed. "I fired a Sidewinder and an AMRAAM at it, no luck. It's like it's not even there." She paused. "Like what happened to Coco when she fought Emerald back at Beacon."

The Geist suddenly snapped into a hard climb, towards Ruby and Pyrrha. They both saw bay doors open for a second: a launcher dropped down, fired a missile, and just as swiftly pulled back into the fuselage. The missile guided on Ruby, who rolled away, dropping flares. The missile chased a flare and exploded.

_It's like Penny's B-1,_ Pyrrha thought. A chill went through her at that. _Salem copied Penny's design, it's like a GRIMM version of her—_

"Pyrrha, _break!"_ Ren shouted. "It's coming after you!"

" _Christos!"_ Pyrrha screamed, and dived as the Geist suddenly filled the windscreen. Unlike Penny's B-1, it had guns, and they were firing at her. She rolled underneath it, had a flash of inspiration, and slid the Raptor on its tail, using thrust vectoring to turn within the aircraft within its own length, and pressed the trigger. Her cannon shells mostly missed, but at least two hit the Geist in the belly. Bits of the right wing flew off. She let the Raptor tumble twice more before pulling back out into the dive. "Got a piece of him," she said, feeling like she'd left her stomach about two thousand feet behind her.

"Get it down here!" Nora yelled. "If it bleeds, we can kill it!"

Ruby rolled back into the fight and fired another AMRAAM. It did not guide, but she didn't expect it to; she wanted to get the Geist's attention. It worked, and the GRIMM, which had leveled out, looking with its sensors for the F-22, locked onto the F-16 instead. Ruby dived, with the Geist right behind.

Then the Geist opened fire, letting fly with two missiles. Ruby broke hard to the left, missiles in pursuit. The Geist stayed singlemindedly on her, turning away from the others; it didn't have the F-16's manueverability, but it had plenty of engine power. As it turned, Pyrrha finally saw the Geist's engines: four of them, hidden behind louvers, like on the F-117; it would kill much of the GRIMM's infrared signature.

"Ruby, Ren. I'm on him." Ren climbed and got behind the Geist, firing with his cannon. Pyrrha saw strikes on it, and it broke off its pursuit, turning hard to engage the J-10. Ruby finally decoyed the missiles away, but now she was well to the north. Ren accelerated, overshooting the Geist, and then dived again, now the bait. It followed him down, a shark pursuing a tuna, never aware of the fact that now it was the target, for Nora was finally in position. She swept in from the side.

Nora's A-10 was in her favorite configuration for hunting GRIMM: four Sidewinders, and two SUU-23 20 millimeter gunpods. It was the latter she triggered first, marching tracers into the Geist. As it turned, like an animal reacting to pain, Nora unleashed the A-10's principal armament: the huge GAU-8 Avenger 30 millimeter in the nose. The Warthog staggered in midair, the sheer recoil of all three cannon shedding airspeed as if Nora had hit the brakes on a car. The effects, however, were devastating. The shells did not so much shoot down the Geist as it tore the GRIMM apart, wings separating from the fuselage before they were also broken apart by impact.

Nora stopped firing, now slamming the throttle forward and diving to get airspeed, her A-10 on the verge of a stall. As she recovered, the Geist—what was left of it—went into a spiral and hit the ground; its missile magazine detonated, leaving no pieces larger than a small table scattered across the ancient lava flows.

* * *

_Hill Air Force Base Visiting Officers' Quarters_

_Ogden, Utah, United States of Canada_

_31 May 2001_

Pyrrha slipped on her pajamas and sat on her bed. She felt like she could sleep a week. Getting used to the F-22's vastly different flight characteristics was exhausting enough, but like everyone else, the Invincible Girl of Greece was getting ground down. _Invincible Girl,_ she thought bitterly. _Not so invincible now, are you?_

But at least they would be leaving tomorrow. When they'd returned to base, they were informed—reluctantly—by the wing commander that they would indeed be leaving the next morning. Their next stop was Vulcan AFB in Alberta, about 800 miles to the north. It should be quieter up there, at least.

The bathroom door opened, and Ruby walked out, dressed in a towel. "All yours, Pyrrha."

"I'll just get one in the morning," Pyrrha replied. "Too tired." She sniffed at her armpits and wrinkled her nose. She smelled of sweat, but her fatigue was worse.

"Okay," Ruby yawned. She sat down on her own bed, across from Pyrrha's. They had a room to themselves; the boys were down the hall. "I need to put on my PJs, but I don't think I can get up. Maybe I'll just sleep naked."

"Doesn't bother me," Pyrrha said, "but what if we get a scramble?"

"Then I'll just do what Yang did and go commando under my flight suit."

"I did that once. It's itchy."

Convinced, Ruby got up, retrieved her travel case, dropped the towel, and got dressed. Pyrrha lay back on the bed; modesty was something one learned to live without in the military. Getting naked in front of total strangers was commonplace. Now in loud heart-dotted pajama bottoms and a halter top with USAF wings on it, Ruby resumed her spot on the bed. "Pyrrha," she said into the silence. "You should be flight leader."

"We've gone over this," Pyrrha told her. "I won't do it."

"But you're a major."

"So?"

"And you have experience."

Pyrrha looked over at her. "Oh yes. And all that experience certainly helped at Beacon, didn't it? I still got shot down. Jaune is still dead." Ruby blinked at the bitterness in her voice. "As you may have noticed, I froze for a second today. If Ren hadn't warned me, I probably would've gotten shot down today, too." She shook her head. "I'm done leading, Ruby. You're far better than I ever was at that." At the crestfallen look on her friend's face, Pyrrha softened her tone. "I'll give you advice, but I can't lead another flight again, Ruby. I just can't. Sometimes it's all I can do just to get into the cockpit."

"Okay, okay." Ruby put her hands up, as if to ward off a punch.

"I didn't mean to snap." She sighed. "Ruby, let me give you some of that advice. You go out there and try to win the war all by yourself every time we fly. I know you want revenge for your sister, and for Ruby Flight, but you can't do it by yourself. We have a mission, and we've barely started on it. If we lose you, we lose everything…" Pyrrha's voice trailed off, and she smiled. Ruby was sound asleep, still sitting on the side of the bed, her head down on her chest.

Pyrrha slid off her bed, walked over, and gently laid Ruby down. The other girl gave no resistance, and Pyrrha rolled her legs onto the bed and pulled the covers over her. Ruby curled up like a kitten, her normal way of sleeping. On impulse, Pyrrha leaned forward and kissed her friend on the forehead. "You're a good person, Ruby Rose," she whispered.

Pyrrha went back to her suitcase, glanced back at Ruby, then opened it. In it was a blue hoodie, marked with the rabbit symbol of Pumpkin Pete. As the (extremely reluctant) spokesperson for Pumpkin Pete cereal in Europe, Pyrrha had contacted the company and had the hoodie shipped out to Hill. It was brand new, and didn't smell like Jaune, but naturally none of their possessions had survived the fall of Beacon. It was the best she could do. Pyrrha got into bed, switched off the light, snuggled up to the hoodie, and looked at her phone. No, she mused, she'd better not; the noise would wake Ruby.

She took a deep breath of the hoodie's smell and hugged it tighter. "I miss you, Jaune," she whispered. "Do you miss me, wherever you are?" She turned over, looking at the ceiling. When she had been delusional in Georgia, she had thought he visited her. He had looked like an angel, glowing from within, his wings made of a shining steel, his smile just for her alone. Now she knew those were hallucinations, but still, she wished she could see them again. Jaune had been so beautiful.

But it would be all right. She had to live, at least for a little while longer. She had to get Ruby, Ren and Nora to Japan, and Salem needed to be defeated. Pyrrha doubted she would live to see that, but it was all right.

She brought up the hoodie to her lips and kissed it. "I love you," she whispered, and fell asleep with a smile on her face.


	3. Fighting With My Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitley Schnee finds Weiss: Jacques wants to speak with her. Ironwood is there as well. Is Weiss going to escape the prison her home has become?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quiet chapter this time, all about Weiss. No combat in this one, unless you count all the yelling and manipulation...

_Herrencheimsee (Schnee Manor)_

_Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany_

_1 June 2001_

Weiss Schnee stared out over the lake—the Cheimsee—that surrounded her family home. It was a beautiful summer late afternoon. Birds sang in the woods, boats drifted lazily on the lake; Jacques Schnee had wanted to ban sailing, but the locals merrily ignored him, and he'd finally given up.

It did not feel at all like a prison.

But, Weiss thought, for all intents and purposes, a prison was what it was. Oh, she could leave if she wanted—she could travel with her mother to Munich, or even to Baden-Baden for a spa treatment. And naturally she would represent Schnee GmbH if the Luftwaffe asked for help with DUST, the Defense Utility System Technology that was supposed to revolutionize fighting GRIMM. In each case, she would be carefully watched, her movements controlled. Weiss sighed. Not that there was anywhere to go. Even if she wanted to find Ruby Flight, there was no telling where they were, and to do so would be to go AWOL. Her career would be over; she'd never fly again. It was too high of a price.

So Weiss watched, waited, and hoped.

"Weiss?"

Weiss turned at the sound of Whitley Schnee's voice. "Whitley. What is it?"

Whitley smiled. It didn't look quite genuine. "Father wants to see you."

"Very well." She turned away from the lake and walked alongside her brother, watching him out of the corner of one eye. He'd been the baby, and the odd one out—the little brother. Even his name was different: where Weiss and Winter had German names, his was English. Even when he spoke German now, his accent was English, and his English had the high tones of a British public school. He was growing up, as well: already as tall as she was, looking more like Jacques every day; only his hair and eyes were Willow's, whereas Winter and Weiss had definitely taken after their mother. They'd barely exchanged ten words since Weiss had returned from Beacon and Whitley from Eton.

"I'm sorry," Weiss said suddenly.

"For what?"

"Not saying more to you."

Whitley shrugged. "I'm used to it. This family isn't exactly talkative."

That was true, Weiss thought. "How was Eton?" It was more because the silence seemed oppressive rather than a genuine desire to talk to her brother. Weiss didn't know why; she'd never hated Whitley. She'd just never really known what to do with him. The problem was, neither did anyone else in the Schnee family.

"Good. I think I'll move to Britain after I graduate." He smiled at her. "Now that you're the heiress again. I don't have to worry about running the stupid company."

Weiss had to chuckle at that. "What will you do?"

"I don't know. Maybe teach. I thought about designing video games, but that market's glutted." He paused. "I'm not going to serve in the military."

Weiss almost said he had little choice in the matter; Germany still had a draft. The Eastern Europe Dead Zones were still too close. But naturally their father would arrange a deferment. If Whitley didn't want to serve, he didn't have to. "Why not?" she wanted to know.

"Because it's done wonders for you and Winter, hasn't it? Both of you almost getting killed? And all that clicking heels and salutes and uniforms and regulations. Not for me. This family's done enough for the Fatherland."

"Has it?"

Whitley nodded. "You nearly got killed for it over in the States. Isn't that enough? Besides, I don't like being here any more than you do. If I do join a military, it'll be the British Army." She stared at him. "I don't like flying, remember?"

Weiss did. Whitley was terrified of flying. Whereas Winter and Weiss loved it, loved the freedom and the skill of flight, Whitley jumped at every creak and noise an aircraft made. Even when he went to Britain, he took the train. He'd told Weiss the only way he'd ever visit the United States was by Concorde, since he wouldn't have to be scared as long. Again, he was the odd man out; even Willow loved to fly.

She looked at the ground as they walked down the long, hedged path back to the palace. "I think this is the most we've spoken in awhile."

"Like I said, I'm used to it." They reached the stairs. "I'm going into town with Klein." To her surprise, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Weiss, Father was shouting at someone in his study earlier."

"Mother?"

Whitley laughed. "If it was Mother, I wouldn't have even bothered mentioning it." Fights between their parents were so commonplace that Weiss had to admit Whitley was right. "No, it was a man. I didn't see who before Father yelled at me to find you." He thumbed towards the ridiculously ornate flower garden. "Mother's in the garden. Drinking."

"That didn't last long. She just got back from Baden-Baden three days ago."

"It never does." Whitley said it matter-of-factly, like discussing the weather. No matter how many times Willow Schnee took the cure and dried herself out, it never lasted long. "I just wanted to warn you."

Weiss snorted. "I can handle him."

"I know. You're strong, like Winter." _And not like me,_ Weiss heard the unspoken words. Whereas Winter had always been defiant, an attitude Weiss eventually acquired, Whitley had always been compliant with Jacques. Weiss had thought him weak, but now wondered if it was simply a defense mechanism, letting Jacques' wrath roll over and past him, rather than counterattacking head on like his sisters. "Anyway…good luck with Father."

"Thank you." Weiss took his hand as he drew it away from her shoulder. _Should I tell him?_ she asked herself. _Should I tell him that Mother's been paying off the White Fang for years? That those bribes, the ones that kept him safe at Eton, went to pay for the White Fang's weapons, the ones that murdered some of my friends at Beacon, maybe even the aircraft that killed Jaune and crippled Yang?_ Whitley was looking at her strangely, and Weiss decided against it. It would do no good. Either it would burden her brother with more knowledge he couldn't do anything about, or he simply didn't care. The White Fang were someone else's problem, just like the GRIMM. "I love you," she blurted. It was true. She did love her brother.

He stared at her, then smiled. "What brought that on? See you later." He pulled his hand away, turned, and walked off.

* * *

Weiss walked to her father's office. She was halfway down the ornate hallway when she heard her father's voice. She suppressed a smile. As Ruby would say, Jacques Schnee was well and truly pissed. He was also shouting in English, which was surprising.

"It's not about my company!" Jacques was yelling. "It's about the European Union! It's about Germany!"

"Horseshit," another voice replied. It sounded familiar.

Weiss crept closer, her low shoes silent on the thick carpet, and glanced in. The sight of a US Air Force dress blue uniform, four stars glittering on both shoulders, took her aback, reminding her abruptly of Ruby and Yang. _Four stars? The only American in Europe with four stars is SACEUR, Supreme Allied Commander Europe. And that's…_ Weiss took another quick glance, and caught the owner of the second voice in profile for just a moment. Graying hairs at the temple, the tough features. It was unmistakably James Ironwood. He was standing; her father was as well, behind his desk.

"I _beg_ your pardon?" Jacques replied, shocked by the profanity.

"I'm sorry," Ironwood said with mock sincerity, "let me repeat that. Horse. Shit." Weiss heard her father make a growling noise, and the thump of him sitting down in his chair. "Jacques, listen," Ironwood said tiredly, "I didn't come here to yell and scream. I came here to talk to you about this embargo."

"Out of the question," Jacques answered. "What you're suggesting is absurd. Not after what happened at Beacon."

"Jacques, you're blowing that out of proportion—"

"Am I? Orbital weapons? _Nuclear_ weapons?"

"It wasn't a nuclear weapon," Ironwood insisted. "It was kinetic energy—"

"I don't care!" Jacques snapped. "It was in violation of every treaty signed since the Third World War! And until the American Congress gets to the bottom of it and finds out why such weapons exist, the trade embargo stands! America must be punished for keeping this from the world so long!" There was silence for a moment. "James, you have always been a trusted friend of the Schnees. I appreciate what you have done for my daughters, especially Winter." Weiss rolled her eyes; that was a lie. "And this is costing me millions, James. Trust me, I hate this embargo as much as you. But I have no influence over Brussels!"

"The hell you don't," Ironwood snarled. "You buy and sell those bureaucrats. You snap your fingers and they drop the embargo. And you're _not_ losing millions. In fact, since the EU can't buy American right now, they're buying European. European weapons, European aircraft. Which just so happen to be using Schnee Company electronics, and DUST. Which, I might add, we still haven't determined is safe from this so-called Black Queen virus." The general gave a snort of derision. "You're not losing millions, Jacques. You're _making_ millions."

Another stretch of silence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do, Jacques. It's a win-win for you. If the embargo stays, you sell to the Europeans. If it's dropped, you sell to the Americans. So why not drop it?"

"I've already told you—" Jacques stopped. Weiss had decided she'd eavesdropped long enough, and stepped through the door. Both men looked at her, but it was Ironwood who spoke first. He bowed his head to her politely. "Hauptmann Schnee."

Weiss realized she'd nearly forgotten the military proprieties, and snapped to attention. "General Ironwood, sir. Forgive my tardiness."

"Not at all. You're not reporting to me. In any case, I've clearly overstayed my welcome." He threw an angry look back at Jacques. "We will continue this at another time." It was nothing less than a promise.

"Naturally. Klein will show you the way out." Jacques leaned forward to pick up his phone.

"No need. I know the way." Ironwood leaned down, finished a glass of wine, and walked towards Weiss, who had gone to a sharp parade rest. "Want to talk to you outside," he whispered, in Arabic. It was a language Jacques did not speak, but Weiss did. She gave no indication she'd heard as he left, then, after the door closed, walked up to stand where Ironwood had been, across from her father.

"Overofficious, pompous windbag," Jacques hissed. "He gets a fourth star when he should've been court-martialed. He should've been stripped of rank and broken." He picked up his own wineglass, and sighed. "The Americans still trust him, more fools they."

"I still trust him," Weiss said.

Jacques whirled on her. "What for?"

"I was at Beacon, Father." _You weren't,_ was what she wanted to add, but even Weiss' defiance only went so far.

"Hmpf. And you almost got killed there, too. What did he whisper to you, just now?"

"'God bless you,'" Weiss lied.

"How kind of him." Jacques drank some of his wine, made a face. "Well, enough of that." He set down the wineglass. "We're holding a charity ball later in the week, for the families of those killed at Beacon. I thought it would be a nice gesture."

Weiss was not fooled for a moment. Jacques Schnee did not care a whit for anyone killed at Beacon. It was to deflect blame from Schnee GmbH; rumors were already swirling about the vulnerability of the DUST system to hacking. The world had seen Penny Polendina die, and knew that the Paladin B-1 had been loaded with Schnee electronics. Jacques needed to assure his stockholders that Schnee was still viable.

She didn't say anything, so Jacques continued, uncomfortably. "We need to show our solidarity with the men and women of the world's nations, who died there. So I think it would be rather wonderful if…if you sang at the ball, Weiss."

That surprised her. Being invited didn't surprise her; being paraded around like a freak of nature wouldn't either. _Look here,_ she could hear her father saying, _a genuine survivor of the Fall of Beacon. Come one, come all, see my brave daughter! Step right up!_ Singing was a different story, though. "Father, I…I haven't sang in years."

"Weiss, that's a talent you'll never lose. A shame you decided to follow your sister into the Luftwaffe. You could've been such a concert singer. You have the voice of an angel." He stood, walked around his desk, and took her hands in his. "My daughter, the brave _experten_ ace Weiss Schnee, the brave defender of Beacon. We must not let them forget your heroism, Weiss. And it will show that the Schnees are as strong as ever."

Weiss tried not to gag. "Are you asking me to sing, or ordering me to?"

"It would make a lot of people happy."

She let out her breath. She did enjoy singing, and it would do no harm. If she was going to be shown off like a prize cow, she might as well make the best of it. "All right."

"Excellent, Weiss." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "That's my girl. The studio is ready any time you want to start practicing."

"Will there be anything else, Father?"

Jacques stopped at the coldness in her voice. He held her shoulders for a moment, then dropped his arms. "No…I suppose not."

"I'll start immediately." She executed a parade-ground about face and marched from the room. Jacques watched her go, then sat down wearily in his chair. He reached out and turned a picture towards him. It was of Whitley. Then he reached into his desk and pulled out another one, this one of the entire family: Jacques was faintly smiling, Willow looked like she smelled something foul, Winter's look promised death to the photographer, Weiss looked on the verge of tears, and only Whitley remotely with an expression of happiness.

Jacques stared at the picture for a long time.

* * *

James Ironwood was waiting outside on the stairs. She walked out of the door, came to attention, and saluted. He returned the salute, then put out a hand. Weiss smiled and shook it. "Is your father's study always like a meat freezer?"

Weiss was used to it, and hadn't noticed. "Yes, sir."

"I guess it balances out all of his hot air." Weiss snorted and laughed, taken by surprise. Ironwood grinned. "How are you, Weiss?"

"I'm fine, sir."

"More horseshit. You're not fine. He's keeping you here." Ironwood shook his head. "Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do about that…yet. This damn embargo and the fallout from Beacon…it's driving me nuts. Much more of this, and…" He stopped himself. "Well, enough of that. I'll get you back on flying duties as soon as I can."

"General," Weiss asked, "what about Ruby? And Yang, and Blake?"

Ironwood glanced around, but they were alone. He dropped his voice all the same. "Ruby's on a mission, with Lie Ren, Nora Valkyrie, and Pyrrha Nikos. I can't say where—not yet. But as soon as I can, you'll be the first to know." He looked down. "Yang's recovering. It's slow. I haven't heard anything, but I know Port and Oobleck are supposed to visit her. I'll get word to you through Winter."

"And Blake?"

Weiss could read the play of emotions on Ironwood's face. He clearly didn't want to tell her, but relented. "She's on a carrier in the North Atlantic. Can't say which one, of course. But she's okay. They're headed up to the North Atlantic Barrier for a bit."

In her mind's eye, Weiss summoned a map of the North Atlantic, and made the connection. _Blake is going home. She's going to Menagerie._ Weiss mentally calculated the distance. If she could get her hands on an aircraft, she could make it to Menagerie in less than six hours. Then she realized Ironwood had been watching her. "Don't even think about it," Ironwood warned. "You leave here without orders, you're AWOL." He nodded at her. "Be patient, Weiss. Okay? You're not forgotten." He shook hands with her again, almost looked like he was going to hug her, then exchanged salutes and walked towards the courtyard. Weiss could hear the noise of a helicopter. She watched as one landed, picked Ironwood up, and flew off to the northwest.

Her hands tightened into fists. A very Yang-like thought came to her. "Fuck patience," she spat, and walked back inside the palace.


	4. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Reaper Flight flies north on the next leg of their mission, they're diverted to fight yet another GRIMM attack. But this one looks familiar to Ren and Nora...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Reaper Flight for this mission. And now I want some Tim Horton's...

_Near Milk River_

_Alberta, United States of Canada_

_2 June 2001_

"Reaper Flight, Sunspot. Composition and state?"

The sudden radio transmission, from an E-3 AWACS orbiting over the middle of Saskatchewan, startled Ruby. She realized she'd nearly fallen asleep. It was a beautiful day, and up here at 35,000 feet, GRIMM were not likely to attack. Of course, there _was_ that Beringal…

"Sunspot, Reaper Lead," she sent back. "Reaper Flight is one F-22, one F-16, one A-10, one J-10. Fuel is…twelve thousand pounds." It was a little lower than she'd like for dogfighting; Reaper had to fly slow so Nora and her poor A-10—never designed for high speed—wouldn't be left behind.

"Reaper, stand by to copy." Ruby fished around in her flight suit for a marker, and leaned over to write on her kneepad. "Cardston reports heavy attack by GRIMM. Lynx Flight was sent to intercept, but they are heavily engaged by both ground and air GRIMM of unknown type and request assistance."

"Roger that."

"Cardston is at bearing 170, distance 70 miles. Lynx's frequency is 188.02." She jotted down the information on the clear plastic kneepad.

"Roger, advise Lynx that Reaper is on the way!" Ruby switched frequencies to the flight net. "Reapers, did you hear that? Flight check."

"Reaper Two, roger." Pyrrha was tucked in on Ruby's right wing, right where she was supposed to be.

"Three." Ren was laconic as usual.

"Reaper Four, let's rock!" Nora sounded more enthusiastic than usual, if that was possible. Ground GRIMM meant that she'd get to use the A-10 for what it was designed for.

Ruby rocked her wings, dropped her external fuel tanks—hoping they didn't land on some poor farmer down below—and turned to the left, starting a descent. She switched on her radar. "Ren, Nora, we're going to outdistance you. Join up at best speed."

"Understood." Ren would hang back to cover Nora, naturally. She would push her A-10 to the limit.

"Pyrrha, take the lead."

"Roger." The F-22 slid forward and past; the Raptor could outdistance the F-16 without even using its afterburners, and its radar was better. Ruby still commanded the flight, but Pyrrha would make the intercept.

Ruby accelerated, keeping an eye on the fuel gauge. They should be all right; Vulcan AFB was to the northeast now, but well within range. She could always call up a tanker if it got dicey. "Lynx Flight, Reaper Lead, what's your position? Coming to assist."

"Reaper! This is Lynx Two. I'm two miles north of Cardston, engaged with four Beowolves! I'm in deep shit!" The voice had the accent of western Canada; Ruby guessed it was a flight of CF-18s out of Cold Lake, far to the north. _When even the Canadians think the lake's cold…_ Ruby remembered her dad telling her that joke. "Lynx Lead, Three and Four are down! Heavy ground fire!"

"Lynx, come southwest! Drag them towards us!" There was no answer. Ruby pushed the throttle forward; the F-16 went through the speed of sound with barely a shudder. Pyrrha edged out even further; the best range was 30 miles. They ate up the distance fast. "Lynx Two, come in!"

"Reaper, Lynx…" She could hear the strain in his voice, against the Gs he was undoubtedly pulling. "Trying…"

_Come on, come on!_ Ruby bounced in her seat, as if she could urge _Crescent Rose_ any faster. Now 40 miles. Pyrrha was accelerating well ahead now, the formation less important than closing the distance. "Reaper Two, tracking two targets," Pyrrha radioed. "Lynx, Raygun." That was a call to make sure she wasn't tracking on Lynx.

"Lynx Two, clear! Negative buddy spike!"

"Pyrrha, Fox Three." The F-22 was now far ahead, not much more than a speck, but Ruby saw two flashes of flame from the speck for a moment, then faint smoke trails. Pyrrha had launched at extreme range. Ruby checked her radar. 35 miles. She watched the radar, and finally it locked onto a target, well to the west. "Reaper Lead, tracking one."

"Lynx Two is hit!" Lynx called out, followed by a groan.

30 miles. Ruby pressed the trigger, and an AMRAAM shot from under her right wing. "Ruby, Fox Three!"

"Lynx Two, I gotta bail out," the voice came a moment later. "Fire in the cockpit." Then the radio popped as the connection was severed, followed by the wail of a beeper. Lynx Two had ejected.

"Pyrrha, splash two." Both Pyrrha's missiles had connected, the Beowolves taken by surprise by the sudden appearance of Reaper Flight. Ruby checked her radar, and swore softly. Her shot was going to miss. The Beowulf she was tracking was now running to the west. It had too much of a head start for the AMRAAM to close the distance. The fourth one was still game, however: it was turning towards them. She locked onto that one, decided to wait another few seconds to get it better in range—

"Pyrrha, Fox Three." Pyrrha was not going to wait. A half minute later, and the last Beowolf joined the others in being blown apart. "No bandits on scope."

"Ruby is clear as well." She switched back to Sunspot's frequency. "Sunspot, Reaper Lead, skies are clear. Scramble Jolly Greens. Will assume RESCAP."

"Jolly Greens are on the way, Reaper. Can you confirm no ground fire?"

"Wait one, Sunspot." Ruby turned towards the west and throttled back. This was not going to be fun. The best way to confirm there was no ground fire was to go troll for it, and the best way to do that was to play target.

"Reaper Lead, Reaper Two; allow me."

"Negative, Two. Assume RESCAP." Ruby descended below a bank of clouds and into a nightmare.

Cardston was a flaming ruin. Nestled at the base of the foothills rising to the spectacular Rocky Mountains, what was once a small farming community at the northern edge of the Montana Dead Zone was now dead itself. Green trees were smoldering trunks, houses were flattened. Ruby's mouth dropped in stunned shock behind the mask. She'd seen what GRIMM were capable of, but never like this. She dropped her speed even lower, despite the risk, just to see if there were any survivors. Then she jazzed the throttles, moving them up and down and causing her engine to surge. Beowolves didn't do that. Then again, Beowolves didn't do this level of destruction, either.

A flare went up in front of her. Ruby dipped a wing and saw a cluster of people waving frantically; in the middle was someone who looked like they were in a flight suit. Another flare went up, and she waggled her wings. "Sunspot, Reaper Lead! I have survivors on the ground! Need someone in here ASAP!"

"Roger that, Reaper; ground elements on their way. Will send additional Jolly Greens."

A new voice broke into the transmission. "Reaper Lead, Lynx Lead on guard. Is that you in the F-16?"

Ruby curved around. "That's a rog, Lynx. Are you with the crowd?"

"Roger that, Reaper! You've got some good eyes. Are the Jollies on the way?"

"Confirm, Lynx. Help is on the way. Hang loose. Reaper on station."

Pyrrha spotted the green parachute of Lynx Two just as it reached the ground. Luckily, the pilot had come down in a clear area. She orbited around him. "Lynx Two, Reaper Two. Come up on guard." She repeated it twice more before the Hornet pilot finally did. "What's your condition?"

"Reaper Two…I think I caught some shrapnel. Hard to breathe. Bleeding from the back, but not too bad…gonna try and get a bandage on it." She heard a cough. "Oh shit. Coughing blood."

"What color, Lynx?"

"Uh…pink. Kind of...frothy..."

_Oh God,_ Pyrrha thought. _He's been hit in the lung._ "Stay still, Lynx. Jolly Greens are on the way." She paused to let the pilot talk, and then spoke again. "Jolly Greens, are you listening?"

"Reaper, Jolly Green 61, roger. ETA ten minutes."

Pyrrha acknowledged, and continued her circle, checking her radar, her fuel, and the sky around her. She could see the pilot below, on a small hill. "Lynx Two, talk to me."

"About what?" She heard more coughing.

"Anything. Just talk. Do you have a girlfriend?" Pyrrha had no idea why that occurred to her, but she had to keep Lynx Two conscious.

They talked for ten long, agonizing minutes until the Jolly Green arrived. Lynx Two's voice got weaker and he was slower to respond. Pyrrha still kept him talking, cajoling him, yelling at him, snapping at him to drag up where the pilot had gone to college, what his hobbies were, what his favorite football and hockey teams were. Finally, the rescue helicopter arrived—Jolly Green was a misnomer, as the UH-1 was painted bright yellow—and Pyrrha watched as the pararescuejumper went down the cable with a stretcher, and carefully loaded Lynx Two into it. Both Jolly Green 61 and Lynx Two thanked her, and as more helicopters headed towards Cardston to pick up the survivors, Reaper Flight rejoined for the short flight to Vulcan. It took a moment: Ren and Nora orbited west of the city for a few minutes, and missed Ruby's first check-in. Then they two left the burning ruins of Cardston and headed northwest.

As they flew back, they were informed that Lynx Two had died in the helicopter.

* * *

_Vulcan Air Force Base_

_Vulcan, Alberta, United States of Canada_

_2 June 2001_

Ruby postflighted _Crescent Rose,_ wishing Chief Vogelmord was there, but she wouldn't see him until they reached Japan. The base mechanics helped, and then she signed the Form One. There were no gripes with the aircraft, and only the single AMRAAM needed to be replaced.

Once she was finished, she grabbed her helmet bag and a duffel from the luggage pod, and joined the rest of her flight, whose postflights had been even shorter. They walked down the flightline; Vulcan was a bit more austere than Hill or Beacon, and unlike the forested hills of Beacon or the close Wasatch Range of Hill, the area around the base was mostly flat, rolling wheatfields. Only in the distance were the Canadian Rockies.

The walk to the equipment room was made in silence. Much like nature, Ruby abhorred a vaccum, and even the death of Lynx Two—it occurred to Ruby that she never even knew the man's name—could not stop her from saying something. "I'm going to grab some dinner and try out their chow hall. You guys coming with?"

Pyrrha smiled tiredly. "I think I'll go work out for bit. I'm not really hungry."

"Okay. Nora? Ren?"

Nora opened her mouth to say something, but Ren interrupted her. "No." His voice was cold and angry. Ruby jumped a little at the snarling tone. It shocked her, more than even Cardston's ruins. Lie Ren didn't get angry. Nora glanced at Ruby apologetically. They stored their flight equipment, but Ren and Nora hung back as Ruby and Pyrrha left.

"Ren…" Nora began.

"You saw it, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question.

"I don't know what I saw."

"Quit lying!" Ren exploded, then stopped himself. He turned and put his arms around her. "I'm sorry, Nora," he said after a moment. "I shouldn't have said that."

She leaned against a cabinet, her back to him. "Ren, it can't be the Nuckalevee. That thing was destroyed after Kuroyuri."

"That was before unification. The Chinese government might have lied."

"Why would they?" Nora asked.

"To save face."

Nora sighed. "Okay, look. _Maybe_ it's another Nuckalevee. That would explain the level of damage, and the tracks we saw. But that thing's not exactly small, Ren! Why didn't we see it?" She gave it some thought. "I guess it could've been hidden in the hills or something. But it can't be the same one that destroyed your village. It can't. That was almost twenty years ago."

"We should go look for it."

She turned and poked him in the chest. "No, Ren. Let the locals take care of it. We've got a mission, remember?" She saw the look on his face and poked him again. "Ren! It. Is. Not. Our. Mission! Getting the bastards that killed our friends is our mission." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Now let's go see what kind of hovel they assigned us. Then you can rip off my clothes and screw me until I can't feel my legs."

A ghost a smile flitted across Ren's face. "Aren't you hungry?"

She kissed his lips. "Mm-hmm. I could put some Ren in me right now."

He rolled his eyes. "You're horrible."

"Mm-hmm."

Ren and Nora went to the Visiting Officers' Quarters. It wasn't bad, even if the furniture was a little out of date and the air conditioning was noisy. Neither minded. Later, lying in bed, naked and awake while Ren slept next to her, Nora stared at the ceiling. She wondered if she'd made Ren forget the Nuckalevee.

* * *

Ruby ate alone. Since she was in the old Canadian provinces, there was a Tim Horton's on base, so she tried a BLT and a maple donut. It left an odd taste, but it filled, and Ruby headed back to the VOQ. Seeing a sign for the gym, she changed course and walked in, and froze.

"Hey, listen. I hope you don't mind that I recorded this in English. My Greek's pretty lousy, and your French…well, it's perfect, like everything else, but if you're listening to this, Ren and Nora are there too, I bet, and they don't speak French. Well, Nora does, but she only knows how to say hors d'ouvres.

"But anyway…look, Ren and I have been exchanging cells before we go out on missions. Y'know, just in case. And I've written a letter for my folks, but you…they might not give you a letter, since we're not related or anything. Not yet, anyhow. But…heh…maybe soon, huh?"

Ruby fell against the wall of the corridor to the gym. It was Jaune Arc's voice. There was no question. Her heart pounded. It couldn't be Jaune. Jaune was dead.

She crept forward, came up to the doors, and listened. "Well, maybe I'm just saying that because…well, you know," Jaune was saying. "You know, Pyr…it felt like so much effort just to progress a small amount, when you were training me, all those nights. But I hope I made you proud. I've never met someone so determined to make someone better. I've grown so much since we started training. And I know…this is just the beginning. Pyr…I…I…I want you to know that I'm just happy to be part of your life. Somehow, Pyr…I'll always be here for you. And…ah, hell, I'm gonna say it…I love you. Weiss would say I'm a sappy idiot, and she's right. But I do. Anyway, this is a silly message, and if you're listening to it…it probably means Nora found it, and she's playing it to make fun of me. Which I totally deserve for recording some stupid message, like I'm gonna die or something. Yang says only the good die young, so I'm gonna live forever. But anyway…yeah."

Ruby felt her eyes fill with tears. It was a voice she never thought she'd hear again, saying what amounted to a farewell she never thought she'd hear. Then she heard a thumping noise, and Jaune's voice began to repeat itself. She opened the door silently, and glanced in.

Pyrrha was in workout clothes, her hair tied back in a ponytail, and wearing boxing gloves. She was slamming her hands into a punching bag. As Ruby watched, Pyrrha punched even harder, her teeth bared in hate, sweat pouring down her face to stain the front and back of her halter top. Then the green eyes suddenly flicked in her direction, and Pyrrha stopped. She reached out to a boxing ring that stood in the middle of the empty gym and punched a button on a phone. "Ruby?"

"Pyrrha?" Ruby walked into the gym. "Was that…"

"Jaune? Yes." Pyrrha mopped her face with a towel.

"He left you a message?"

"Yes. He and Ren exchanged phones, just in case something happened to them." She drank from a half-full water bottle. "Can I help you?"

"I just…I heard Jaune's voice."

"I can play it again, if you like."

Ruby walked to the ring and pulled herself onto the apron of it. "Sure. But what are you doing?"

"Working off some frustration."

"You've been here for an hour."

"I have a lot of frustration." Pyrrha began punching the bag again, ducking as she did so, as if dodging punches. She began delivering side kicks to it as well. "Hit the button," she puffed.

Ruby found the right one, terrified that she would accidentally erase it, and played the message again. It repeated the same words. Pyrrha began to punch and kick harder. By the time the message ended, the bag was swaying dangerously on its chains.

Ruby stared at the phone for a long time. She wiped her face, then looked up at Pyrrha. "Does that help?"

"Yes." A hard punch. "It helps." A left cross. "It helps a lot." An uppercut that would have broken the jaw of a living being. "It fucking helps because I'm fucking tired of fucking _losing people!"_ A kick that nearly caused the bag to break from its chains. Pyrrha stopped the swaying, leaned against the bag, chest heaving with exertion. "I'm so tired, Ruby. I'm so tired."

Ruby slid off the apron and hugged Pyrrha, much like Ren had hugged Nora. "We got to keep going, Pyrrha."

The other woman was silent for a few minutes. "I know," she finally answered, and smiled at Ruby over her shoulder. "I'm all right. I'm not going to hurt myself, Ruby. I will never do that. Not as long as that bitch Salem lives. I will see her at my feet, I swear to God." Ruby did not like that tone. Pyrrha's voice was brittle, bitter and angry. The silence stretched longer, and finally Pyrrha said, "Ruby, you're still hugging me."

"Oh, sorry." She let go and stepped back. Then she unzipped her flight suit and stepped out of it. "Didn't bring any workout clothes, but there's no one here but us girls, so…you don't mind if I'm running around in my skivvies, do you?"

Pyrrha smiled. "Not at all." She pointed to a bench. "Gloves are over there."


	5. The Enemy Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang struggles to get back in the cockpit, despite the best efforts of Taiyang. Meanwhile, Blake finds herself paired with Sun aboard the Reagan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends on kind of a cliffhanger, but it was getting too long of a chapter, so the next part will have to wait a bit. The next chapter might have a delay; I'm going on vacation next week (hopefully). I plan on updating while on vacay, but no guarantees.
> 
> For you young'uns, the song Yang is singing at the beginning is the Gorillaz's "Clint Eastwood." Sounds like something Yang would like.

_Asheville Regional Airport_

_Asheville, North Carolina, United States of Canada_

_3 June 2001_

“’I ain’t happy, I’m feeling glad, I got sunshine in a bag; I’m useless, but not for long, the future is comin’ on…’” Yang sang as she and her father took the exit to Asheville Regional Airport. 

Taiyang looked at the radio as if it was a virus. “How can you listen to that crap?” he asked his daughter.

“How can you listen to Rush, Dad?” Yang countered.

“You mean the greatest thing to come out of Canada since Tim Horton’s? Or the Arrow? Or Wayne Gretzky?”

“You don’t even watch hockey.” Yang rolled her eyes. 

“Well, I was trying to think of something as awesome as Rush.” Tai went past the main terminal, towards the general aviation section of the airport. 

“The lead singer—what’s his name? Getty or something? He sounds like a cat being strangled.” 

“Oh yeah?” Tai pointed at the radio. “The lead singer of this band sounds like he’s high.” Yang opened her mouth, and Tai shook his finger at her. “Silence! You will no longer insult the Holy Trinity of Geddy, Alex and Neil.” Yang burst into laughter, and Tai grinned. It felt good to hear Yang laugh again. 

She’d gotten better, he reflected. Tai would like to think it was the books, but while those had helped, he attributed it more towards a hard program of physical labor. Tai began by kicking Yang out of bed at 0600 and forcing her to come downstairs. She’d yelled and cursed him at first, mulishly refusing to eat or join him on a jog through the woods. Then she’d started eating breakfast, and obstinately walking rather than jogging, letting her father lap her around the house. Then she started jogging. Then she started running. She’d even joined him in mucking out their neighbor’s barn. It had taken a week, but Yang was beginning to live again. Tai always knew she would; she was young, she was strong, and just not the type to stay down for long.

She’d surprised him this morning. After finishing her morning run, she’d walked into the kitchen and declared today was the day she would fly again. 

They pulled into the Happy Bottom Flying Club and School, which Summer Rose had once declared (after her second tequila; Summer was a lightweight) sounded like a cross between a flight training school and a whorehouse. Actually, it was a tribute to the famous Happy Bottom Riding Club, operated by the legendary “Pancho” Barnes near Edwards Air Force Base in the late 1940s, when Chuck Yeager and Scott Crossfield were trading aerial speed records. Tai had been teaching at Happy Bottom since he’d left the USAF; both Yang and Ruby learned to fly here.

They got out, and Yang took a deep breath of the smell of an airport: jet fuel, hot metal, oil. It smelled good. It felt good. She grinned at her father. “You were right, Dad. I can’t stay away.”

Tai opened the door to the hangar. “It’s in your blood, kiddo.”

There were no students at the school this morning, but the other two instructors were there, lounging next to one of the Happy Bottom’s Cessna 172s. Both were older men, and couldn’t be more different: one was white, short and skinny with graying blonde hair; the other was black, tall and heavyset, and bald as an egg. Weirdly, aside from that, they looked like each other facially. “Hey, Lance. Hey, Pops,” Yang greeted them.

“Wayull!” Lance’s drawl was pure Texas. No one knew if he was actually a Texan or just pretended he was. “Ah see ya got her down here, Tai.” He levered himself out of the chair and winced as several joints popped. “What are ya now, missy? You still a Looey?”

“I’m a Captain,” Yang replied, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

He snapped to attention and saluted. “A Capt’n? Below the zone as hayull. You musta blown someone fer that.”

“You’d know,” Pops chimed in.

“The list is long an’ distinguished.”

Pops got up and walked over. “You’re one sick bastard, Lance.” He enfolded Yang’s real hand in one of his; she was reminded of Yatsuhachi Daichi. “How are you, Yang?” His drawl was more Carolina than Texas. “Pay no attention to this gross motherfucker. Though you’re way too young to be a Captain. Back in my day, you didn’t make Captain until you were at least 30.”

“Back in his day,” Lance said. “Back when you wuz flyin’ Nieuports—“

“Will you shut up?” Pops retorted. “I’m trying to talk to the lady here.”

“Oh, now she’s a _lady._ No child o’ Tai and Summer’s is any lady.” Lance looked around. “Where’s the other one, the little redhead that eats all my dayum cookies?”

“She’s a Captain now too,” Tai told him. “She’s at Hill.” Naturally, he couldn’t reveal Ruby’s actual mission, not even to two of his oldest friends.

“Ruby Rose, a Capt’n? Sheeit. Ah guess I might as well jus’ pick me out a plot in the dayum graveyard, ah’m so fuckin’ old.”

“The way you fly? I’m surprised you haven’t bought the farm already.”

Yang snorted at the two older men’s jibes. She knew they’d been friends for longer than she’d been alive, having flown combat everywhere, from Vietnam to Iran, starting off in F-105 Thunderchiefs and finishing in early model F-16s. Tai cleared his throat so Lance and Pops would quit sniping at each other for a moment; they could do this for hours. “Gentlemen—and I use the term very loosely—Yang would like to fly before she _turns_ 30.”

“Right, right.” Pops motioned them out of the hangar. Yang noticed that both of the old men had looked at her artificial arm, but neither had mentioned it. He pointed to an off-white aircraft, another Cessna. “You’ll start with that.”

“Okay.” Yang wasn’t going to argue. With her still learning how to use her hand, she knew that she had to start all over again. The Cessna 172 was forgiving and easy to fly, and Tai could take over if something went wrong.

“And once you’ve mastered that…” Pops moved out of the way “…maybe I’ll let you fly _that._ ”

“Whoa. Holy shit,” Yang breathed. It was a P-51 Mustang, its bare metal finish shining in the hot sun, the nose a bright red, repeated on the rudder. It carried invasion stripes and the call letters of the 4th Fighter Group, the precursor to her old wing at Signal. Lance acted like a game show hostess revealing the latest prize. 

“ _Maybe,”_ Pops emphasized. “Restoring that bird cost me half a mil. But we’ll see.” He steered her back towards the Cessna as Yang took a step towards the Mustang. Tai laughed; Ruby would have already been salivating over the P-51’s right wing.

Yang walked to the Cessna, opened the pilot’s door, and sat down. Tai got in the right seat. Yang looked around the instrument panel and saw her severed hand lying on the rudder pedals. 

_What the hell?_ She blinked. There was nothing there. Now her heart began to hammer. _Stop it,_ she thought. _Stop it! You are_ not _having a panic attack! Pussies have panic attacks!_ She gripped the stick and throttle and forced her brain to remember how to start up a Cessna 172. Her eyes darted around the cockpit, trying to find the pitch control, fuel mix, but she couldn’t seem to focus.

Tai didn’t notice at first. “You forget how to fly one of these things?” he laughed. He pushed in the mixture knob to get fuel to the engine. “Easy to do. All this is automatic on the F-15.” 

“I, um…”

“Carburetor heat knob. Push in.”

“Uh, right.” Yang found it and pushed it in. “Now…now master switch…”

“You got it!” Tai encouraged her.

Yang’s hands were shaking as she found the switch and turned it on. “Now…we prime?”

“Don’t have to. It’s warm. Throttle?”

Yang’s real hand touched the throttle. She slowly closed her artificial hand around the stick. It was strange, not feeling the stick, but seeing it in her hand. But now her arms were trembling too. She felt sick. She opened the throttle, but too much.

Tai gently put his hand on her artificial one. “Okay. Let’s stop.”

“No, Dad.” Yang tried to be firm, but her voice was shaky too. 

“Yang, I won’t fly with you when you’re like this. You’re a danger to your aircraft, yourself, and everyone in the air with you. Secure the aircraft and climb out.”

“But…” Yang hung her head. He was right. Going up in this condition was suicidal. Slowly, she got out of the Cessna. 

Tai came around and put an arm around her. “It’s okay, pumpkin. It’s been a little over a week. It was too soon. Let’s go home.”

Yang made it through Asheville and halfway back home before she started crying. It came on slowly, she fought it, but the tears eventually would not be stopped. “Dammit,” she breathed, wiping away the tears angrily. “God _dammit!”_ She slammed her hand into the passenger side door, leaving a dent.

“You need me to pull over? Zippy’s got enough dents in her as it is.”

“I’m fine!” 

Tai took the next exit, found a turn-out, and stopped. “No, you’re not.”

“I _am!”_ Yang shouted. 

Tai was patient. A man learned patience raising two daughters. “You had a panic attack when we got in the Cessna.”

Yang’s hands clenched into fists—including the artificial one. “Only cowards have panic attacks.”

“Bullshit. Both Summer and Raven had panic attacks. Summer was a hypochondriac when she was pregnant with Ruby.”

“That’s different, Dad!” Yang exclaimed. “That’s pregnancy hormones and…and not fighter pilot stuff! I love to fly! Why the _fuck_ am I having panic attacks for something I love doing?”

Tai leaned over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Yang. You just had your damn hand blown off. You got shot down. You lost a fight. You think that’s not a shock? You think Bader and Mareseyev just hopped onto their artificial legs and back into the cockpit as soon as the docs put them on?” He sighed. “I guess it’s my fault.”

“How can this be your fault, Dad?”

“I pushed you too hard. I thought if I got you up and moving you’d be ready. My fault, Yang. I should’ve realized…”

Yang leaned back in the seat. “No, Dad. I needed the kick in the ass. But maybe I’m just…maybe I can’t do it, you know? Get back in the seat, I mean.” She shook her head. “But I want to, Dad. I want to so damn bad. Ruby’s out there. She needs me.”

“Yang, I know it’s hard to believe—it is for me—but Ruby is a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

Yang smiled and chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, I know. She didn’t get her dumb hand blown off or get shot down. Granted, she rammed another airplane, but it’s not the same.” She reached up and put the cold plastic of the hand on Tai’s warm one. “It’s like I’m the little baby sis all of a sudden.”

They were quiet for awhile, then Tai took off his seatbelt. “Well. Maybe that’s what we’ve got to do.”

“What?”

“Baby steps. Got to crawl before you can walk.” He opened the door. “Scoot over. You drive.”

“Uh, what?” Yang repeated.

“You drive. I _know_ you know how to drive. I taught you that, too.”

“But…” Then Yang saw what her father was trying to do. She took off her belt, gingerly got herself in the driver’s seat, while Tai went around and took the passenger side. She set her feet on the accelerator and brake pedals, then her hands on the wheel. Zippy was an automatic, so she wouldn’t need to shift much. It was kind of like an airplane, at that.

Tai reached down and put the car in reverse. “Ready?”

“I think so.” She pushed down on the pedal. Zippy lurched, but she got back on the road. Another shift into drive, and she got back onto the highway. The wheel responded, she used the pedals as needed, and Yang found herself quartering the windscreen—checking her instrument panel, the road ahead, other cars, her mirrors. Without warning, Yang was suddenly enjoying herself.

Yang found herself smiling. _I’m useless. But not for long._

_USS_ Ronald Reagan _(CVN-76)_

_North Atlantic Ocean, 600 Miles West of Ireland_

_3 June 2001_

Blake Belladonna leaned against the railing of the fantail of the huge carrier. The North Atlantic, notorious for horrible weather and a cruel sea that seemed determined to sink anything manmade that dared sail its waters, was relatively calm. She could feel it moving the carrier, over 100,000 tons still subject to the sea’s movement. Below her, the _Reagan’s_ four propellers churned the ocean into foam. To her right—starboard—the sun was beginning its trip downwards, though dusk was still a good three hours away. 

She’d been onboard almost a week, but hadn’t flown any missions. It was almost as if the carrier’s crew had forgotten her, though she’d sat in on the daily briefings of VF-213, the squadron she was temporarily attached to, and stood a watch or two. It had left her little to do but brood. 

“Hey there.”

Blake turned to see Sun Wukong ambling towards her, flight suit unzipped to his navel—of course. It brought a faint smile to her lips. She’d been surprised to see him, since Sun was not US Navy, but Chinese Unified Air Force, same as Lie Ren. As it turned out, Sun was assigned to the _Reagan_ to get carrier qualified: China would be fielding its first carrier before long, and it would need naval aviators. He didn’t have his FCK-1 Ching Kuo as he had at Beacon, but was temporarily attached, as she was, though he was flying with VFA-115, one of the _Reagan’s_ F/A-18 squadrons. 

“Hi.” She turned back to the sea. 

Sun leaned on the fantail railing next to her. Above them was the overhang of the flight deck. “You avoiding me or something? I’ve barely seen you since you came aboard.”

Blake shook her head. “No. You’ve been busy. And I haven’t.”

“I thought maybe it was because I reminded you of Beacon.”

She turned and graced him with a cold stare. “Anyone ever tell you that you lack tact?”

“What’s tact?”

Blake rolled her eyes. “I rest my case.”

“Well, if you’re bored, I’m just your man.” That got another stare that dropped the ambient temperature. “The CAG just sent me to find you. You’ve got BARCAP tonight. He says you’ve goldbricked long enough. Time to earn your wings.”

A jolt of fear went through her. BARCAP was Barrier Combat Air Patrol. The carrier flew at least two aircraft, 24-7 while at sea, to guard against attack. That part wasn’t what bothered her. What bothered her was the missions usually lasted four to six hours…which meant coming back aboard the _Reagan_ at night. She had exactly five night traps in her entire career, the bare minimum to carrier qualify, and each other scared her as much as GRIMM. “Shit,” she cursed.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll be flying with you.”

“It doesn’t.” Blake sighed. There was no point in crying, screaming, or otherwise conducting herself unlike a Marine. Orders were orders. She was going to have to land at night, or crash _Gambol Shroud_. It was that simple. 

He pushed himself off the railing, then began walking back into the hangar deck behind him. When Sun realized she wasn’t following him, he turned back. “You coming? Or you going AWOL?”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

Sun nodded. “Okay. Just meet me in 115’s ready room.” He continued walking away.

Blake watched the sea for a minute longer. Then she reached up and untied the ribbon in her hair. There were quite a few Faunus on the ship, enough that their prescence didn’t even merit a second glance. She would be no different, and it was time to realize that. She’d worn it for so long, hid for so long, but Blake was suddenly so very tired of hiding. She held it for a moment, then tossed it into the ship’s wake. It bobbed there for a moment, then was lost in the froth. 

A half hour later, Blake was in her flight gear, and climbed up the handholds into _Gambol Shroud’s_ cockpit after preflighting the aircraft. The plane captain, a young human male, helped her strap in, then pulled the safeties from the ejection seat and climbed down. The chocks were pulled, Blake ran up the F-14’s engines, and she followed one of the yellow-shirted deck crew’s directions as she taxied forward. The sea had picked up a little, especially as the _Reagan_ turned into the wind to launch aircraft, and it felt strange to be taxiing on an airfield that was moving beneath the Tomcat’s wheels.

Ahead of her, the carrier was getting ready to launch the nighttime E-2 Hawkeye AWACS aircraft, an ungainly turboprop with a large radome atop the fuselage. While she had time, Blake quickly ran through her own prelaunch checklist. Although catapult shots were even more routine and simple than landings on carriers, there was still a lot that could go wrong. The catapults were essentially giant steam pistons that threw aircraft into the air, from zero to 200 mph in less than three seconds. But if there wasn’t enough steam in the catapult, there wouldn’t be enough speed to get into the air—what was called a “cold cat” shot. Sometimes the pilot could stand on the brakes and stop the aircraft before it went over the bow, but most of the time a cold cat would simply fling the aircraft into the ocean. If that happened, she would have to eject in a hurry and hope the carrier wouldn’t run over her. There was also the possibility of an engine failure. She reviewed that procedure in her mind. 

The Tomcat vibrated with the E-2’s launch, and she watched it climb smoothly into the air. Then she once more followed the yellow-shirt forward, and stopped with his hand signal. Now she was more or less a passenger for a minute or two. Around _Gambol Shroud,_ more yellow-shirts—bridlemen—attached the F-14 to the catapult shuttle. These men had the most dangerous job on a carrier’s flight deck, which was saying something: they would have to maneuver around an aircraft which was running its engines. One false step, and a bridleman could walk into a propeller or be sucked down an intake, with survival extremely questionable. They were professionals, and soon the Tomcat was ready for launch. Blake stared down the long gray line of the catapult, to the bow of the _Reagan,_ which moved up and down, giving her a glimpse of the waiting sea.

She looked to her left, to the catapult officer. They would alone give the signal to launch the aircraft. She leaned into the wind and twirled her hands, giving Blake the signal to run up to full power. Blake did so, pushing the throttles to the stops. The Tomcat roared with energy, purple shock diamonds forming behind the engines, thousands of pounds of thrust directed backwards to hit the steel jet blast deflector and direct it away from aircraft behind her own. _Gambol Shroud_ strained at the catapult holdbacks. She quickly ran through checking the rudders and the flaps; all were working. For launch and greater lift, the F-14’s wings were swept forward. 

The catapult officer dropped to one knee, to allow the wing to pass over her head without decapitating her. Her eyes met Blake’s, and waited. Blake saluted her, then took her hand off the throttle to hold onto a handle on the canopy; if she launched with her hand on the throttle, the sudden jolt could cause her to jerk the throttle backwards, causing the engines to quit…and that would be bad. The catapult officer returned the salute, her left hand dropped to the deck, two fingers extended.

_Here we go,_ Blake thought, and readied herself, pushing her head back into the headrest. _Any second—_

The catapult officer’s hand came up and pointed forward. Blake’s heart beat once, and the catapult fired. Several times the force of gravity pressed her back into her seat, the carrier disappeared behind her, and suddenly she was in the air. A quick scan of the cockpit—everything looked good—and Blake cycled the landing gear up and climbed. She glanced behind her as she rolled to the right, and saw Sun go off the port catapult, on the angle deck. His launch was clean too, and he joined up. They climbed out to the north and their patrol area, and Blake relaxed. At least she’d get some nice flying in. 


	6. Where Dragons Dwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake and Sun are on BARCAP when they intercept a GRIMM. But this GRIMM is below the surface, and it's headed for the carrier. How can they stop something their aircraft are not designed to stop?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Been a little bit, due to a vacation that was a bit longer than planned! But I'm back, tanned (well, sunburned) and fully rested. Time to get back in the saddle.
> 
> This one is all Blake and Sun.

_USS_ Ronald Reagan _(CVN-76)_

_North Atlantic Ocean_

_3 June 2001_

Rear Admiral Edward Smith had no business being a rear admiral of the United States Navy. For one thing, his parents had named him for the captain of the RMS _Titanic,_ as they were both aficionados of that disaster. For another, he was from Pratt, Kansas, a place that was one of the furthest points in the United States from any ocean. Despite the fear that his name might bring to superstitious sailors or his farmland background, Smith had joined the Navy in the 1980s, and his career was one long history of quiet professionalism. Even if sailors did joke about his name with gallows humor when they thought he was out of earshot. It didn't help matters that he bore a resemblance to the doomed captain of the _Titanic;_ the Navy allowed sea beards, and his now came in a snowy white.

Smith sat in his sea chair on the bridge of the _Reagan._ He didn't command the carrier—a rather muscular woman, Captain Marlesa Ederne, did that—but he did command the battlegroup. Therefore, it was him that a yeoman walked up to, carrying a message. "Admiral, sir?"

Smith got up from the chair and gave a start when his back popped loudly. He was getting a bit old for sea duty. "What is it?"  
"Message from the _Lassen,_ sir. She's picked up a sonar contact, bearing 010 degrees, distance thirty miles. CIC reports nothing of ours in that direction, sir."

"Depth?"

"50 feet."

He looked at the message. That sounded like a submarine at periscope depth, but the only nations with submarines in this area were the British and the French, and neither of them would be stalking an American carrier battlegroup without his knowledge. That sort of thing led to unfortunate incidents, even among allies. That left one possibility.

Smith walked over to the display that showed his battlegroup's positions. The _Lassen_ was to the east, the outer picket position, about thirty miles from the _Reagan._ He bent over the display, which put together both the surface search and air search radar patterns from the ship's radars. He tapped at two blips on the far eastern fringe. "Who's this?" he asked the enlisted man who monitored display.

"Eastern BARCAP, sir. Blake and Sun."

"Have them check out the contact. Tell the _Lassen_ to keep monitoring it."

* * *

Blake hated to admit it, but she was sort of enjoying herself.

The sun was beginning to dip into the western horizon, turning the sky and scattered clouds a beautiful orange and pink. Twenty thousand feet below, the sea was ruffled as a wind blew across it. As long as the weather held, getting back aboard the _Reagan_ at night would be tough, but not terrifying. She hoped, anyway. She glanced over to her right. Barely in visual range, she saw Sun Wukong's borrowed F-18. Naturally, the FCK-1A Ching Kuo he'd flown at Beacon was not built for carriers, but the F-18 was so similar that she doubted Sun had any trouble flying it. Moreover, Sun had one of the new F-18E Super Hornets, with more weapons capability and longer loiter time. The Navy was billing the "Super Bug" as the Tomcat's replacement, but Blake—like all Tomcat pilots—found the idea laughable.

"Blake, Renegade Control."

She keyed her radio. "Blake, go."

"Blake, you and Sun are directed to check out a subsurface contact, bearing 310 degrees, range five miles. It should be close enough to the surface for you to see it."

"Roger that. Did you hear that, Sun?"

"Roger." Sun had been uncharacteristically quiet, but BARCAP wasn't really a duty where one was chatty. "Blake has the lead."

"Renegade, Blake, moving to intercept." Blake tightened her seat straps—she had loosened them a bit to relax better for the long flight—dropped onto her right wing, and entered a shallow dive. As she descended, she reached forward and looked at the TCS display. The Television Camera System was a TV camera slung under _Gambol Shroud's_ nose, allowing her to see objects at much longer range than even her Faunus eyesight. She scanned the waves below, but didn't see anything.

She went through a cloud and leveled out at five hundred feet, dipping a wing to look. There was nothing but the ocean—and then there wasn't.

A shadow stirred under the sea, and then surfaced for a moment. It was a long tubelike object, almost like a submarine, but too narrow. It went below the waves again, then the head surfaced. It came to a point, with a small bulge on top like a head, one filled with electronic eyes that Blake knew had seen her. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment. She'd heard of them, but never thought she'd seen one.

Blake keyed her mike again, but Sun had beat her to the punch. "Renegade Control, Sun! Identify contact as a Sea Feilong, course 085, speed about 150—speed increasing!" As if the seaborne GRIMM had heard him—and perhaps it had; no one knew if GRIMM reacted to radio calls—it surfaced completely in a spray of foam, and headed northwest for the battlegroup at high speed.

* * *

"Oh shit," Smith whispered to himself. He'd fought Sea Feilong before. They usually preyed on single ships—one of the few seafaring GRIMM, a pack of them had sunk most of a Chinese task force when they'd first been spotted a decade ago. They were less a threat to something like the _Reagan,_ but they were definitely a threat to smaller destroyers like the _Lassen._ Most of the time they preyed on merchant ships; he'd never heard of one stalking a carrier battlegroup. Then again, they'd never heard of something like the Wyvern that had destroyed Beacon, either.

It wasn't Smith's job to run the carrier, it was Captain Ederne's, and she was already moving. "Sound general quarters! All hands to battle stations!" The general quarters gong began ringing throughout the ship, and Smith heard the sound of hatches clanging shut as the _Reagan_ prepared for battle.

Smith looked up at the enlisted man. "Get me the _Yorktown._ "

* * *

At this point, there was really nothing Blake could do. The F-14 Tomcat was built for air to air, _Gambol Shroud_ in particular; she carried no bombs or missiles that could really hurt a Sea Feilong. What she needed was a Harpoon antiship missile or a laser-guided bomb like a Paveway, but she was groomed for aerial combat, with two AMRAAM, two Phoenix, and two Sidewinders. The only thing she could do—should do—was to shadow the Feilong and keep up contact reports. But through the TCS, she could see the _Lassen_ in the distance, and knew that was where the Feilong was headed, at over a hundred miles an hour. There were over 300 men and woman aboard the destroyer.

And Blake was tired of watching people die and be able to do nothing about it.

She dived, switched to guns, and opened fire. The M61 Vulcan 20mm gatling cannon vibrated the nose of _Gambol Shroud_ and gave a brief roaring noise. She saw shells kick up water around the GRIMM, then sparks as she hit it. She doubted she'd done it any real damage—the Feilong were heavily armored—but she certainly got its attention. She broke off her dive and climbed, then rolled over and strafed it again. The GRIMM seemed to almost twitch, almost hesitate.

"Blake, this is _Lassen!_ Break off, we're engaging!"

Blake climbed away from the Feilong, abruptly realizing how close they'd gotten to the destroyer. The _Lassen_ had manuevered towards the GRIMM and opened fire with its 5-inch gun on the forward deck, splashing shells around the Feilong. The destroyer crew was doing its job: keeping a threat as far away from the carrier as it could, even if they had to sacrifice themselves.

But the Feilong was too quick. The shells were radar-guided, but the GRIMM snaked around the splashes. Blake, hanging upside down, saw ports behind the "head" open up, exposing the snouts of missiles. She remembered an old briefing about the Feilong's armament: twelve heavy antiship missiles, a battery of antiaircraft missiles, four torpedo tubes. One of the latter would cripple the _Lassen;_ one of the former would sink it. " _Lassen!"_ she screamed. "Take evasive action! It's getting ready to launch on you!"

And then an explosion blossomed on the Feilong's port side. The GRIMM rolled away from the detonation. At first, Blake thought that the _Lassen_ had connected, but saw the thin smoke trail behind the explosion. "Sun?" He'd fired an AMRAAM at the GRIMM, ballistically, but it had hit.

The Hornet came in on the deck, and the Feilong finally turned, towards the new threat. The antiship missile doors closed, but new ones opened, the SAM battery. Blake rolled and dived, switching on _Gambol Shroud's_ defense system. Panels slid back, extending four cables from above and below the Tomcat's fuselage, unfolding radar reflectors on the ends, even as cameras projected holographic images of four more F-14s where one had been before. Hopefully the Feilong would see her sudden squadron as more of a threat.

Blake's mouth fell open behind the mask as Sun's F-18 suddenly became four Hornets. She blinked, and realized that there was now more than one aircraft with holographic decoys.

The Feilong was not distracted by Blake, and fired two SAMs at Sun. Both tracked harmlessly on the decoys, which vanished as the missiles exploded in the Hornet's wake, and then his nose disappeared in smoke as he strafed the GRIMM. Sun climbed away, but Blake, who had broken off her dive, saw the battery turn to follow him. "Sun! Break right!" The Hornet twisted to the right, but Blake could see the Feilong was still tracking on him.

_Track this, asshole._ Taking a page from Sun's book, Blake switched to her Phoenix and fired one straight at the GRIMM. The Phoenix's radar was not designed for ground targets, and in any case needed a few miles to switch on, but she fired it like an unguided rocket. The Phoenix impacted just behind the SAM battery, and the Feilong seemed to rear up out of the water. She'd done it some damage: the battery dropped back down into the GRIMM, a hatch closed over it, and it suddenly went hard to port, away from whatever had hurt it. Blake climbed again.

"Thanks, Blake!" Sun yelled. "You're my hero! I'm gonna kiss you when we get back on deck!"

"Ugh," Blake said aloud. "Just shut up and fight, you horny bastard!"

The Feilong wasn't done yet. It came back around in a wide circle, descending to just beneath the waves, then surfaced again. One of the hatches slid back, and an antiship missile launched. "Vampire, vampire!" Blake yelled out. " _Lassen,_ missile inbound!"

The destroyer heeled over in a hard turn to starboard, then to port as the destroyer captain tried to throw off the missile's seeker head. Something like fireworks popped behind the ship—chaff, Blake recognized. The missile skimmed across the waves, and she tried to lock on with the F-14's radar: the Phoenix _could_ hit antiship missiles, but the range was too close. Then suddenly the missile turned away, chased a chaff cloud, and exploded with a shockwave visible enough to shake the _Lassen._ "Renegade, Blake!" she snapped. "You'd better get something out here, because we can't do shit to this thing!"

"Blake, this is Jehovah." _Admiral Smith,_ Blake thought, recognizing the voice. She thought it interesting that both Smith and Ironwood used the same callsign, which had to be a form of blasphemy. "See if you can draw it away from the _Lassen._ Bring it south if possible."

"Roger that." Blake wasn't sure exactly how to execute that order, then had an idea. "Sun, deploy your countermeasures and follow me!"

* * *

The Feilong knew it had missed, and went around in another wide circle, this time trying to manuever for a torpedo run. It was about to dive beneath the surface, when its onboard sensors abruptly detected no less than seven aircraft hurtling towards it from the south. Its sensors also picked up two radars locking onto it, as well as numerous heat signatures. It turned away from the _Lassen_ to fight this new threat.

Blake and Sun had their holograms reactivated, dropping flares and chaff in their wake. Blake's F-14 was faster, and she kept it just above the waves. Despite herself, she was grinning as adrenaline shot through her system. One hiccup here and the Feilong wouldn't have to worry about destroying her; Blake would nicely spread herself and _Gambol Shroud_ across a few miles of ocean. She rose just slightly, long enough to loft an AMRAAM at the Feilong—it wouldn't guide, but it would be one more thing to get its attention.

Then her radar warning receiver screamed for _her_ attention. The Feilong had locked onto her. It should have been nearly impossible—the F-14 was surrounded by decoys, dropping chaff by the bundle, and her radar signature would've been lost in the sea return from the ocean—but then Blake realized that the GRIMM must have some sort of optical tracking system. She pulled up, then broke hard right, knowing that the brief climb had slowed her down too much, though it was either that or cartwheel across the ocean; she slammed the throttles to the stops, engaging the afterburners, but still the RWR shrilled all the same.

Then it cut off. Blake twisted back around to the left, looking down, and saw that the Feilong was burning. The SAM battery was a smoking ruin, and beyond it, she saw Sun's F-18, trailing gunsmoke. He'd accelerated past her, somehow avoiding a collision, and strafed the Feilong. The battery was small, it had been a near impossible shot, but Sun had done it. "Thanks, Sun," she breathed.

"This is the part where _you_ say it," he returned. Blake rolled her eyes.

The Feilong knew it had been wounded, and it started moving away from the battlegroup, its programming telling it to live and fight another day. Blake switched off _Gambol Shroud's_ holograms and reeled back in the decoys. "Blake, Sun, Renegade Control," the _Reagan_ radioed. "Are you clear of the Feilong?"

"Roger," Blake replied. "We're clear. It's retreating—course now 090, speed about 80." As she watched, the GRIMM began to submerge slowly.

"Stand by for BDA."

_BDA?_ Blake asked herself. _Bomb Damage Assessment? They launch someone with bombs? Weird that they wouldn't tell us—_

Then a cylinder with stubby wings shot past her, so fast she barely had time to register it. The missile pitched up, then dived straight down, hitting the Feilong in the spine just as its nose went beneath the waves. The GRIMM disappeared in an explosion that rocked her F-14. "Holy shit!" Blake exclaimed. They'd used a Tomahawk cruise missile on it. She shifted around in her seat and saw a thin smoke trail leading back in the general direction of the carrier, and remembered that the _Reagan's_ battlegroup included the guided missile cruiser _Yorktown._

"Blake to Renegade. BDA is 100 percent. Target very much destroyed." She watched what was left of the Feilong disappear beneath the waves.

"Blake, Sun, this is Renegade. RTB. We'll launch the alert five to spot you." Blake acknowledged, then just before she took her finger away from the radio button, she began to laugh, for the first time since Beacon.

The Feilong had spared her from a night landing.

* * *

Blake leaned against the fantail railing again, feeling pretty good. It both surprised her and shamed her. She had no right to feel good. Not with all the bodies littering Beacon. Not with Yang missing an arm.

But she still felt good anyway. She wasn't sure it was with the knowledge that she'd helped destroy a GRIMM and save hundreds of lives, or with the warm handshake and compliment she'd gotten from Admiral Smith, or the shot of "operational whiskey" the admiral had quietly shared with her and Sun in his stateroom. Admirals could get away with that sort of thing, and Smith clearly knew his pilots deserved at least something besides an attaboy. Blake wasn't a drinker—the long ago party at Beacon was an aberration for her—but the whiskey still left a warm feeling in her gut.

"Hey there." Sun Wukong, who looked pretty happy himself, ambled over and leaned against the railing with her. "We did good today."

"I suppose I owe you an apology. You probably saved my life out there with that gun run on the Feilong."

Sun waved it off. "You saved my ass when you dived on it in the first place. No worries." He put out a hand. "Friends? Or at least a ceasefire?"

Blake took the hand and gave it a shake. "I was never mad at you, Sun."

He nodded, and they watched the phosphorescent wake of the carrier for a moment. Night had fallen at last. Behind them, the huge hatch that normally opened onto the fantail was shut; it was a darkened ship. There might be more than one Feilong out there. "You just took off after Beacon," Sun suddenly said into the dark silence.

"I had to. You wouldn't understand." Blake wasn't sure she understood herself.

Sun shook his head. "No, I get it. I knew exactly what you were doing."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"You're going on a one-woman rampage against the White Fang."

She blinked. That was _not_ the response she'd anticipated. "Er…"

Sun turned to her, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "You always felt like the Fang was your fight. They show up, trash Beacon, hurt Yang…it makes perfect sense."

"That's not really what—"

Sun cut her off. "You know there's no way in hell I'm letting you do this alone. It's honorable, to be sure, but you're going to need someone to watch your back—and that booty of yours." Blake covered her eyes, wondering if she should turn him in for sexual harassment, as Sun thumbed towards himself. "And that's where I come in! We Faunus have to stick together, after all."

"Sun, oh my God." Blake rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You're wrong. You're completely wrong."

"What? How so?"

"I'm not going anywhere _near_ the White Fang."

Sun was silent for a moment, clearly taken aback. He knew Blake was no coward, but not going after the people who had nearly killed her and crippled Yang made no sense. "Seriously?"

Blake watched the foam for a few moments. "Not yet," she conceded. There was going to be a reckoning with Adam. But it would not be for awhile. "I need to sort some things out."

"Well, okay." He leaned against the railing again, and was quiet again for a little while. "Then I take it you're not meeting up with Ruby Flight at some point."

"No. Ruby's…Ruby's got some sort of special mission she's on. Need to know, and I didn't need to know." She knew better than to mention Rissa Arashikaze's visit at Patuxent River. "Weiss is somewhere in Germany, God knows where. And Yang…" She really did not want to talk about Yang. "What about Sun Flight? Neptune, Sage, Scarlet? I'm surprised you don't have Neptune squirreled away somewhere below."

"Heh. Neptune would have to be forced into sea duty. He's goldbricking ashore." Sun sighed. "Sage is back in Italy. He's doing okay—in fact, they gave him a hero's welcome, a parade and everything, being the only Italian at Beacon and all. Scarlet's in Israel. He should make a full recovery from that leg wound." He shrugged. "As soon as the dust settled in Beacon, I got orders to the _Reagan_ from the CUAF, and they assigned me to that Super Bug with the _Gambol Shroud_ enhancements. Project Ruyi Bang. They're seeing if it can be adopted on the Hornet, which means it can be adopted to the Ching Kuo—assuming China doesn't buy them some Super Bugs, which they will. Not a lot of carrier-capable fighters out there, after all." He snorted. "I probably just broke some regs in telling you all that, but what the hell. You deserve to know." Sun turned around and leaned against the railing, uncaringly turning his back on the ocean, though his tail curled up and around the railing for extra safety. "So if you're not going after the White Fang, where _are_ you going?"

"Home." Blake smiled, sadly. "To Menagerie."

"Well, I knew you were going there, anyway." He grinned at her. "Good thing I convinced the admiral to amend my orders. I'm coming with you."

Blake's eyes rounded. "You did _what?"_ Sun had stayed behind after they'd tossed back a shot of whiskey in the admiral's cabin. She'd thought it was just for Sun to get another drink out of Smith.

Sun's grin widened. "Hey, the GRIMM are getting worse. Feilong have _never_ attacked a carrier battlegroup before—the admiral said so—and never attacked a big group of warships alone. And just because you're not going after the Fang doesn't mean they won't come after you."

Blake hated to concede to that logic, but Sun was right. The White Fang saw her as a traitor. Adam knew she would run. And it wouldn't take a tactical genius to figure out that she would run home. The White Fang could operate semi-openly in Menagerie; she wouldn't have to worry about Adam jumping her the moment she flew within range, but a quiet kidnapping on the streets would not be beyond the realm of possibility. Or a quiet murder. Adam might want her alive in the hopes she would return to him, but Sienna Khan wanted her very dead. "I guess there's no stopping you."

"Nope." He laughed. "This is going to be great. I've never been to Menagerie before. It's a regular journey to the east." Blake groaned; she knew enough of the meaning behind Sun Wukong's name to get the joke. It was a pun worthy of Yang.

She sighed. There really was no stopping Sun. And to her surprise, she found herself actually warming to the idea. It would be good to have someone she could trust there, although there was no telling what her parents would say when she brought a boy home. Kali would gush about grandchildren; Ghira might just demolish him on sight. On impulse, Blake stood on tiptoe and gave Sun a peck on the cheek. "My hero," she said, then turned and went back up the companionway to the flight deck.

Sun stood at the fantail, his hand on his cheek. Then he laughed. "Well, hot damn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A little bit of Black Sun? Well, it could be. I'm a Bumblebee shipper, but that's mainly in "Love Hurts"...


	7. We Are Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang continues to recuperate, but she's got some help in the deal. Qrow, for his part, has been quietly helping Reaper Flight, but now his past has caught up with him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a quiet chapter, action-wise, but one that moves forward Tai, Yang, and Qrow.

_The Xiao Long-Rose Residence_

_Patch, North Carolina, United States of Canada_

_3 June 2001_

_Ember Celica_ was in a flat spin. Yang felt herself pressed against the sides of the cockpit. She knew she had to get out of the spin. Warning lights were coming on all over the instrument panel, warning of oil pressure dropping, airspeed gone, fire lights in both engines. But she had to get out of the spin first. She reached down to shove the stick forward as far as it would go, get the nose down, get airspeed, get air flowing over the wings. But the stick didn't move, which was no surprise, since her right hand was gone. She moved the stump helplessly, but she was about a foot short. It would have struck her as uproariously funny if she wasn't about to die.

_Okay, time to go,_ Yang told herself. The ground was getting altogether too close, and she remembered her instructors in flight school: when the aircraft was no longer able to be saved, it was time to cut your losses and bail out. With her left hand, she reached down and pulled the handle between her legs, bracing her back. Nothing happened. She pulled the handle again, and this time the seat fired. Everything went into slow motion as the rocket motor shot her free of the dying F-15; even through her helmet and the blast of a 300 mile an hour slipstream, she could hear the sound of tearing metal, as if _Ember Celica_ was screaming in her death throes. The F-15 fell away, and she watched it crash and explode far below her. Then Yang was pressed down as the parachute opened with a _whumpf._

And then she saw Adam turning towards her. Her eyes narrowed. Moonslice had been a small aircraft, half the size of her F-15, but this version looked twice as big. Instead of a rounded nose, it was chiseled, like a stealth aircraft, and it had two engines instead of one, with split tails and the intakes above the fuselage instead of below… _that looks like Raven's plane, not Adam—_

Then the cannons in the nose sparkled, and Yang felt the cannon shells hit her body. It didn't hurt, which was odd, even as her body came apart, even as her remaining hand detached, reaching up, there was someone there, with red hair and silver eyes—

* * *

Yang came awake, hyperventilating, unable to get her breath, her heart pounding. She tried to scream for help, but she couldn't get enough breath to even do that. Her right hand flew outwards and hit the headboard of her bed, and the pain was just enough to focus her thoughts.

_Fuck! Panic attack!_ Yang tried to remember what she'd read on the internet. She tried to calm herself down, tried to find something to focus on. Her darting eyes fell on her artificial arm. The hand had involuntarily closed, bunched up in the covers. _Okay. Focus on that. Focus on the arm. How it feels attached to your body. It hurts a little, doesn't it? Okay. Focus on the pain._ She closed her eyes. _Breathe, Yang. Think of something nice. Something good. Like…sex or something._ That thought brought a smile to her lips, and her breathing slowed back to a near normal rate. Her real hand stopped shaking so much. Her heart was still pounding like it wanted out of her chest, so Yang sat up in bed, cross-legged, and took deep, ragged breaths. Finally, after what seemed to be very long minutes, she felt in control of herself again.

"God," she said aloud. With a still-shaking hand, she wiped her forehead, then hugged herself. She was soaked in sweat. Though she didn't quite trust her feet, Yang got out of bed, stripped naked, tossed her clothes in a hamper—one-handed; she was getting good at hitting three-pointers—and opened the window some. A breeze drifted in; it was a bit humid, but it dried her all the same. A half-moon was in the dark sky, the shadows of the Great Smoky Mountains in the near distance. It felt good.

Yang heard voices downstairs as she got dressed, throwing on fresh underwear, a T-shirt that loudly proclaimed EUROPEAN HEALTH BATHS—though she'd never been to the place; she'd stolen the T-shirt from Pyrrha Nikos—and cutoff shorts. Then she quietly opened her door and went to the stairwell landing. A booming laugh resounded through the house, and it was unmistakably Wing Commander (Retired) Peter Port, of Her Majesty's Royal Air Force.

She crept down the stairs. The door to the kitchen was just ajar, and light streamed out from it. "Funniest damn thing I ever saw!" Taiyang was saying. "You were there, Pete."

"Wasn't I, though?" Port laughed. "Barty, you're not going to believe this. This was during that Norway business. Strike Flight had gotten a night off, and we were in Menagerie, so this sod convinces Qrow Branwen that the locals wore kilts to pubs. And then they gave him one."

"What was the tartan?" Yang recognized Bartholomew Oobleck's voice. _He's here too?_

"Only you would ask that," Port snorted.

"That's the funny part," Taiyang said. "It _wasn't_ a kilt. It was one of Raven's skirts. But Qrow fell for it hook, line and boat. So he comes stroking into the local pub, like he's the original ladies' man, and all the lassies there are just snickering at him." There was more laughter as Yang crept closer to the door. "The girls _did_ say he had nice legs, so I did that jerk a favor."

"Oh, you haven't even gotten to the good part yet," Port put in.

"Hold on a minute. This is _my_ story, Pete." Taiyang paused, and Yang heard the clink of a beer bottle. "All right. So Qrow realizes he's been had, because Summer can't keep a straight face and neither can I. But this is Qrow we're talking about, so he goes up to a table full of girls, and puts a boot up—"

Yang glanced in, just in time for Port to get up and, despite his bulk, somehow get a foot up on the kitchen table. "'Like what you see, ladies?'" Port's back was to Yang, but she could see him shaking with laughter. "And it was then we realized—" Port broke off, he was laughing too hard "—that Qrow was a true Scotsman!"

"You mean?" Oobleck was sitting across from Port, leaning back in his chair, dressed as he always was—white shirt, yellow tie askew—but holding a bottle of beer himself.

"Yep!" Taiyang exclaimed, taking the story back from Port, who was slowly subsiding to the kitchen floor in mirth. "Qrow was wearing nothing beneath the kilt, and every one of those gals could see right up the kilt. Qrow had it _all_ hanging out. I thought Kali Belladonna—she was Kali Radpoor then—I thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head!"

Oobleck shook his head, laughing, as Port was nearly pounding the floor at this point. Taiyang, leaning on the kitchen counter, took a pull from his beer, looked through the bottle, and saw Yang grinning through the open door. He put the beer down and motioned her in. "Hey there, pumpkin. Come on in."

Yang walked into the kitchen. Port scrambled to his feet, as fast as he could, and Oobleck stood as well, with far more dignity. "Captain Long!" Port said, adjusting his tie; he was wearing his RAF uniform. "Pardon me, miss." He walked to her and took both her hands on one beefy paw. "How are you, my dear?"

"I'm good," Yang said, and it was only half a lie. She accepted a handshake from Oobleck, whose eyes went to the artificial arm that hung from her shoulder. Yang shook her head, reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a beer for herself, then pulled herself onto the kitchen counter next to her father. She popped the top off on the bottle opener attached to the fridge. "What brings you guys out here?"

"Contrary to popular belief, Miss Long, we professors do not sit around all day waiting to teach and grade papers," Oobleck replied. He ran a finger over the top of his beer. "Especially when the school's been burned down."

"And we wanted to see how you were getting along." Port sat back down and took a pull at his beer, wincing at it. Like most Englishmen, he considered American beer to be too weak. "We were surprised to find that Lieutenant Rose was not here, at least."

" _Captain_ Rose," Taiyang amended. "Ruby's coming up fast in the world. And you know I can't talk about that, Peter."

"No…of course not." Port decided to change the subject. "Captain Long, you will be interested to know that Colonel Goodwitch was moved out of the ICU yesterday. She is expected to survive, assuming her condition doesn't deteriorate again."

"That's good." Yang remembered, almost as if in another dream, being brought into the medical tent outside of Beacon, and seeing the unconscious Glynda Goodwitch. She'd heard in the hospital that Cinder Fall had shot Goodwitch in the stomach. She'd lost a great deal of blood, but Yang was convinced that Goodwitch was too mean to die.

"And when can we expect for you to get back in the cockpit?" Oobleck asked, with typical lack of tact.

"She's not ready yet," Taiyang replied.

"'She' is in the room," Yang pointed out, "and can be talked directly to."

"Hmm." Taiyang took a drink. "Well, you're not ready yet."

"Who says?"

"I says. And I'm your father."

"No shit, _Dad._ " Yang slid off the kitchen counter and faced her father, while Port and Oobleck began to wonder if they should retreat. "Why is it you keep acting like I'm still twelve?"

"Because you still act like you _are_ twelve. If you think you're ready to jump in an airplane," Taiyang told her with a sideways smile, "then you lost some brain cells along with that arm."

Dead silence suddenly reigned in the Xiao Long household. Oobleck nearly dropped his beer, and Port slid his chair back, preparing to give father and daughter fighting room. Yang stared at her father. He stared back. Then she slowly brought up her artificial hand, concentrated, made a fist, and then extended the middle finger. "Fuck. _You._ Dad."

"Oh dear," Oobleck said into the silence.

Then neither Yang nor Taiyang could hold it any longer. Both burst into laughter. She playfully punched her father in the shoulder. "You're such an asshole, Dad."

"Must be where you get it from." They both finished off their beers.

Oobleck and Port relaxed. "So," the former professor said, "we _are_ talking about the elephant in the room, then."

Yang turned around and raised the arm. "It's taking some getting used to, I guess. But I can use it, at least."

"To flip off her father," Taiyang put in.

"Among other things," Yang said, shooting him a smirk over her shoulder. "I'm going to get back in the saddle, guys. It's just going to take awhile." She hesitated. Should she admit it? Then Yang regarded each man in turn. There was probably near a hundred years of combat experience in this room. They would know. If anyone knew, Taiyang Xiao Long, Bartholomew Oobleck, and Peter Port would know. "I'm still a bit scared to get into the cockpit. I've been having panic attacks."

"Fear is like any other emotion," Port observed solemnly. "It comes and goes. It's all how you handle it. None of us have ever _not_ been scared. Even I admit to fear now and then."

Oobleck nodded. "He's afraid of rats."

Port slammed a fist on the table. "You're damned right I am! They carry only pestilence and disease, Barty! They are evil, unnatural things!"

Oobleck ignored him and leaned forward, whispering _,_ though Port could hear every word. "My understanding is that one of them crawled into his Jaguar in India back in 1971."

"It was as big as my hand!" Port held up one hand, as if Yang had forgotten how large his hands were. She started snickering, and realized that had been the two men's intention. She shrugged to herself, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out another round of beers.

* * *

Taiyang waved one last goodbye as Oobleck and Port pulled out of the driveway. Oobleck had stopped after his first beer, but Port was pleasantly tight, and he was singing as the car drove off. Taiyang hoped they'd be all right; it was a narrow mountain road back to town. Tai had put away three beers himself, and was feeling a little lightheaded. He waited patiently for Zwei to do his business and waddle back in, then shut the door and headed up the stairs to Yang's room.

Yang had put away three beers herself, and it had been awhile since she'd had alcohol, so she was feeling rather pleasant herself. She climbed into bed as her father walked in. Yang smiled up at him, and Taiyang smiled back, feeling a little wistful. Whatever else had gone wrong between himself and Raven Branwen, they'd made a beautiful baby. And now that baby was grown up. She'd been wounded, physically and mentally, but Yang was strong. He hoped.

"Dad," Yang said, coming to a decision. "We should try to fly tomorrow."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, Dad." Yang scooted her feet under the covers. "But I'm not going to fly. I'm just going to ride along and let _you_ fly. Then we'll see." She shrugged. "Like you said. Baby steps."

"Okay. We'll let you drive, too."

Yang shuddered. "I don't know if I'm ready for the Asheville traffic yet."

"I don't know if anyone is. I swear, driving with Summer was scarier than combat." Despite her peaches and cream exterior, Summer Rose was a maniac driver, with road rage issues; even Raven had been terrified to drive with her. Taiyang walked over to the bed and pulled the covers up. Yang pushed his hands away. "Dad! I'm not an invalid."

"I know. But you _are_ my little sun dragon, and I'm your dad, and by God I'm going to tuck you in." Yang snorted, but let him. Then he handed Yang her teddy bear, and kissed her on the forehead. "Want me to read you a story?" he asked jokingly.

"Actually, yeah, I do." Alcohol had taken just enough off of Yang's inhibitions, what little she had to begin with. "Dad…can you tell me about Raven?"

* * *

_The End of the Line Bar_

_Juneau, Alaska, United States of Canada_

_4 June 2001_

Qrow Branwen leaned against the back of the bar. He was tired. It had been another eight-hour day in the cockpit, and even a modified F-117 Nighthawk was not built for crew comfort.

Unknown to Reaper Flight, he had been tailing them since they'd left Signal. For every GRIMM Reaper had encountered, there were two or three that they hadn't, because Qrow had quietly shot them down. The GRIMM had tailed Reaper Flight—though Qrow was sure it was just because there had been more GRIMM activity as of late, rather than an actual effort by Salem to hunt down Reaper Flight—stalking them, but Qrow had stalked them in turn. The F-117's stealth had served him well; the GRIMM never knew he'd been there until they were destroyed. He figured he'd probably destroyed a dozen in the past two weeks, but Qrow had long since stopped keeping count of how many kills he had. When he was younger, with Strike Flight and determined to be the guy who would top Maria Calavera's record, that sort of thing had concerned him. He and Summer Rose had a friendly rivalry. But then she had disappeared, and it wasn't fun anymore.

Now the Reapers should be safely to Eielson AFB outside Fairbanks, while he had landed at Juneau. Alaska was in something of a state of siege when it came to GRIMM, but with squadron-level combat air patrols around the central area of what had been America's largest state, they would be safe there. The passage across the Pacific was a different story, but for now, Qrow could relax. As much as he ever could, especially in Juneau.

Once the capitol of Alaska—it had since been moved to the more defensible Anchorage—Juneau had returned to its Wild West roots. It was the last outpost between Alaska and the British Columbia interior, where Canadians still held on in the face of GRIMM attacks; Vancouver and Victoria were long gone. As a result, it was filled with a wild mix of salvagers getting ready to fly out to the abandoned areas, of workers from the Prince George aluminum works trying to have some fun before retreating back to their fortresslike workplaces, fishermen still plying their trade, and air pirates and bounty hunters taking a quick rest before returning to their jobs. A place like Patch was still quiet, still civilized, where one could forget there had ever been a world war that had killed millions. Juneau, on the other hand, was the frontier, where death was never far away, and GRIMM were actually the least threatening thing around. Qrow actually liked places like this; it made him feel alive again.

He was sitting content, nursing a local beer that tasted like something from a horse, listening to the rain outside, when a waitress walked up and placed a glass of whiskey in front of him. That was the other reason to come to the End of the Line: they had the cutest waitresses in town, and Qrow was a regular. The girls liked regulars, and big tippers. He smiled at her. "Thanks. What do I owe you?"

"It's not on the house," the waitress said. "From the woman upstairs. Red eyes. Said you wouldn't mind bottom shelf." She winked; her eyes were stripping him. "Though I went ahead and gave you top."

Qrow's good mood instantly evaporated, and he glanced around the bar. "Jesus," he breathed. He nodded at the confused waitress, levered himself out of the seat, grabbed the whiskey, and headed up the stairs.

She was in the rear of the bar's balcony, the one table on the bar's upper balcony that would put her back to two walls. Even in the half-light of the bar, Qrow knew his own twin sister.

Raven Branwen was also sitting in a chair, her feet up on the table, her own whiskey in front of her. Even if there was any doubt, even if there were other women dressed in tailored red flight suits with black hair that made her look like she'd just been electrocuted, the white and red helmet sitting on the table left no doubt at all. The End of the Line was two short blocks from the airport. Qrow had shown his government ID and gotten a secluded hangar, where no one would notice the odd shape of the F-117. Raven could buy or threaten her way to having the same, to hide her Night Raven where people like Qrow couldn't see it.

"Hello, brother." Raven made no move to get up.

"Hello, sister." He dropped into a chair and set down his whiskey. "Good to see you."

"And you." Qrow thought there might be genuine affection there, but wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking on his part. Brother and sister had never quite hated each other, but neither had they quite ever loved each other, not since they were children—and Raven's abandonment of Yang had killed what love was left. He took a sip of the whiskey; it was indeed the good stuff. "So what do you want?"

"Same old Qrow." Raven smiled. "No chitchat, no idle talk, just out with it." She toyed with her whiskey glass. "You don't think that it's mere coincidence that we ended up in the same bar, and I just wanted to say hi? Catch up with the family?"

"What family?" Qrow tossed back the whiskey. "Unless you're planning on keeping these coming, let's just get this over with."

"All right. Does she have it?"

"Gee, _that_ narrows it down," Qrow said. "Who she and what it?"

Raven leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. "Salem. The Fall Maiden."

Qrow had figured that was what she had meant, but he wasn't done baiting his sister. "You know Yang lost her arm, right?" Before she could answer, he continued. "Rhetorical question. Of course you know; you have your sources and your hackers. Funny that you mention family and then act like Yang doesn't even exist. Not that it's anything new. You're just Mom of the Year, aren't you?"

Raven glared at him. Her eyes weren't really red, Qrow thought; they were a shade of brown that tended towards the reddish. "I saved her life once, Qrow."

"Ah, so you _do_ acknowledge she exists."

"The feeling's not mutual." Raven stared at her whiskey for a moment, then drank half of it. "You know what Yang said to me when I met her at Beacon? That Summer was her real mother."

"Which you deserved."

"I'm not here to talk about the past, Qrow," Raven snapped. "I knew I couldn't be there for her, and I knew Summer would be a better fit for Tai. Our romance was a mistake. End of story."

"Yang was a mistake?" Qrow needled her.

Raven drank the rest of the whiskey and sat up straight. "Look, you son of a bitch. I fucking tried. I warned you— _and_ Yang—that Beacon would fall. It did. I warned that Ozpin would fail. He did. Now I'm going to ask just once more, Qrow, and then I'm going to forget you're my brother. Does. She. Have. It?"

Qrow knew he'd pushed far enough. Yang had inherited her mother's temper, and Raven could get homicidal when she was pushed too far. "All right. No. Not that I know of. She would've used it by now." He leaned back in the chair. "Why do you care?"

"I want to know what we're up against."

"Who's 'we'? The tribe?" He shook his head. "You know, the US government would shit if they knew just how much you've rebuilt California. You've done a lot there, Raven. You would be a big help if you joined us."

"You should've thought of that before you left the tribe," Raven replied.

"Maybe I got tired of all the murdering and thieving."

"It's your family."

Qrow snorted. "Strike Flight was my family. And now that you and Summer are gone, Tai is my family. Ruby is my family. _Yang_ is my family."

Raven shot out of her chair, one hand on the long-bladed knife that never left her side, not even in the cockpit. "God damn you, Qrow! You think it's been _easy_ being tribal leader? We have to survive! It's the only way and you know it."

"Oh, I know. So do the people of Cardston."

She looked at him, then slowly sat back down. "I had nothing to do with that. That was a Nucklelavee. Which, I should mention, won't be bothering the good people of former Canada any longer."

"You destroyed it?" Qrow was impressed. Only one Nucklelavee had ever been sighted, twenty years previously, and there had never been any indication it had been destroyed. "That must have been difficult."

"It wasn't easy," Raven answered.

"And I'm sure you did it out of the goodness of your heart, because you care so much."

Raven chuckled. "Of course not. I just knew that if one of those things got loose, the government would move more assets up north, and they might just come after me when they were done with the Nucklelavee. And I don't like mecha-GRIMM running around near places that I'm interested in." She shrugged. "The weak die, the strong live. You know that."

"Uh huh. What did you use, a nuke?" He leaned forward across the table. "Or was it something else? You know, I _thought_ I saw a glow on the horizon the other day."

Raven said nothing for a moment, then got back to her feet, picking up her helmet. "I guess there's really nothing more to talk about." She began to walk away, but Qrow grabbed her arm as she walked past.

"Raven," he said. "If you know where the Spring Maiden is—if you have the damn thing—you need to tell me."

Her mouth quirked into a smile. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because we're going to die without it."

"Who's 'we'?" She threw his words back in his face, and pulled away her arm. "Take care of yourself, Qrow." Without a backward glance, she went down the stairs and was gone, passing the waitress along the way. The waitress looked towards the sister, then back to the brother. Qrow held up his glass and rattled the ice. "Make this one a double."


	8. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Alaska, Ren and Nora get some good news. In Menagerie, Blake returns home, while in Florida, Rissa Arashikaze recruits a new pilot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a fairly quiet chapter, but necessary. It's also something of an infodump chapter, as Blake talks about why this world's Menagerie is in Scotland. (Man, if they ever animated this...Ruby and Yang would have Southern accents, and Kali and Ghira would talk with Scottish brogues, which feels oddly right.)
> 
> In reality, Holy Loch is a submarine base, and doesn't have an airfield, but this is a different world. Paisley exists, and is indeed right next door to Glasgow's other, smaller airport. There's a reason why I have the Belladonnas living there that will be revealed later. Incidentally, if any of you are George MacDonald Fraser fans, Paisley is where Harry Flashman's wife Elspeth was from. (Which was pure coincidence.)

_Eielson Air Force Base_

_Fairbanks, Alaska, United States of Canada_

_4 June 2001_

Nora Valkyrie climbed down the ladder from her A-10, took off her helmet, then leaned against the fuselage, exhausted. Lie Ren, who had landed ahead of her and waited for her to taxi into the hardstand, understood. The A-10 did not have an autopilot, and had to be "hand-flown" everywhere. It was tiring, especially in a long flight such as the one from Dawson Creek, Alberta to Fairbanks, Alaska. The next leg—to Japan—would be even longer. Ren's rear end twitched painfully at the thought. Ren remembered his father had suffered from hemmoroids; he'd read tales of some fighter pilots actually leaving puddles of blood on the seat.

He put those thoughts aside. Ren did not like to think much about his parents—not because he didn't love them, but because he loved them too much. They were dead, had been since he was a child, and that was that. Aside from Nora and Pyrrha Nikos, and to a certain extent the members of Ruby Flight, there was not a lot of room in Ren's heart for sentiment.

Ren walked over to her. She looked up at him tiredly. "Think you can carry me to the equipment shop? And then to the chow hall? And then to bed?"

He smiled. Even exhausted, her eyes surrounded by dark circles, her hair plastered with sweat, and not smelling particularly fresh, Nora was still beautiful. "I think I could manage carrying you to bed, and that's about it."

"Um. I'll take it." She got back on the ladder, grabbed her helmet bag, stuffed her helmet in that, and plodded along behind him as they walked down the flightline. Pyrrha was waiting; she didn't look much better than Nora. The F-22 _did_ have an autopilot, but Ren suspected Pyrrha didn't use it—either because she didn't trust it or because she simply liked to fly without it. Sometimes Ren wondered if Pyrrha would've been more comfortable flying a Spitfire than a Raptor. "Where's Ruby?" Nora asked.

"I don't know," Pyrrha replied. "She landed first, but then she took off like a shot after she taxied in." They drew even with _Crescent Rose._ "She even left her helmet." Ruby's red helmet, still with a bare metal gash in it from her high-speed ejection after ramming Cinder Fall, lay on the canopy rim next to the ladder.

Moments later, they spotted Ruby running back towards them. She pulled up short when she reached the rest of Reaper Flight. "Whew!" she puffed. "Sorry, guys. I had to pee like a Russian racehorse."

"There is a relief tube," Ren reminded her.

"Made for guys," Pyrrha said. Modern aircraft weren't exactly made for female pilots, at least when it came to relieving oneself. There was an attachment, but getting to it at 35,000 feet and 500 miles an hour in a cockpit smaller than the average closet was an exercise in contortionism.

They waited for Ruby to retrieve her helmet, helmet bag, and duffel out of the luggage pod slung under her fuselage, then resumed their walk towards the equipment shop. After putting away their flight gear, they would need to report in to the base commander, then the wing commander, then processing—it was a lot of paperwork, especially for four tired fighter pilots.

* * *

Though it took the better part of an hour, eventually all the paperwork, saluting, and exchange of written orders took place, and Reaper Flight could make their way to the Visiting Officers' Quarters. As Eielson had been around since the 1950s, the VOQ here was much more plush than the ones in Alberta. Someone in the USAF had thought ahead, and realized that, despite being on the tip of the spear against the GRIMM, rested fighter pilots were better fighter pilots. One look at the rather nice shower, and Nora decided that eating could wait. She informed Ren that she would be going first, closed the bathroom door, peeled out of the rank flight suit and her underwear, and walked in. With the water spraying across her tired body, Nora thought that a girl could get used to this.

Nora Valkyrie believed that, if a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing well, so she was still in the shower forty minutes later when Ren walked into the bathroom. "I got us dinner," he called out.

"You're a saint, Renny!" she yelled back.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Hell, no!" Nora grinned at the thought of a soapy, wet Ren in the shower with her. She wasn't _that_ tired.

He got undressed and walked in next to her, turning the hot water up—mainly because Nora had already used a lot of it. "It's Burger King, but better than nothing," he informed her.

"Fine by me." She grabbed the soap out of his hand and began washing his back. "Allow me." As she scrubbed him, she said idly, "You know, we didn't run into any GRIMM today."

"You're complaining?"

"Not this time." Nora's A-10 had been loaded with ferry tanks, which cut into its already unimpressive speed even more. Other pilots held that the Warthog was the only aircraft that had to worry about bird strikes from behind. "Just weird, though. Supposedly we're in the biggest hotspot in the USC, but not even a Beowolf."

Ren turned around and got the soap back; if Nora was in charge of scrubbing his front, she'd concentrate on one particular area at the expense of all others. "I suppose even the GRIMM have to get a day off."

"Ren," Nora said, all banter from her voice gone, "someone got that Nuckelavee."

He paused. "Who told you that?"

"Pyrrha. While you were in the can at base HQ. The wing CO told her and Ruby." She regarded her lover, watching his expression. "They're not sure who got it, or if the thing just up and exploded. Either way, apparently there's wreckage scattered all over the place, down in eastern British Columbia or something."

"That's confirmed?"

She'd asked Pyrrha the same thing, knowing Ren would ask. "Yeah. I mean, as much as anything is confirmed in the military. I suppose we could ask for pictures." Ren went back to soaping himself, then stood under the spray and sighed. "Come on, Ren," Nora pleaded. "That's good news. It's gone."

"Just like that?" he asked. "Something that we watched destroy a battalion of troops and kill…kill my parents, just destroyed? Like nothing? A GRIMM that's been around for 20 years just blew up?"

"It's not like we've ever heard of someone doing preventative maintenance on a GRIMM," Nora argued. "Maybe the damn thing just finally took more damage than it could handle, or maybe this Salem person self-destructed it. Or maybe someone in the military used a tacnuke on it."

"Tacnukes are banned."

Nora laughed grimly. "And you believe that? Remember that orbital weapons are banned too, but Ozpin used one on the Wyvern at Beacon. Maybe one of the higher ups said 'Fuck it' and blew up the Nuckelavee before Congress has a chance to shut everything down." Ren nodded; that was entirely a possibility. Heads were rolling in the American government, but maybe someone had decided to use it or lose it. She leaned forward and hugged him. "C'mon, Ren. Whatever blew it up, this is a good thing. Can't you just be happy about it?"

Ren looked down at her, at the cute face framed by reddish-orange hair, and the pale blue eyes. He chuckled—at himself. Then he leaned down, kissed her, then reached behind and turned off the shower. He slid open the door, grabbed her, and swept her up into her arms. Nora giggled. "But Renny! We're all wet!"

"Then grab some towels." Nora managed to drag two off the rack as he carried her towards the bed.

* * *

_Near Glasgow_

_Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_5 June 2001_

Blake Belladonna stood on the ferry as the River Clyde slid beneath her. The river did not smell at all pleasant: it smelled of fuel oil and diesel fumes. But then a breeze blew down from the mountains, bringing a scent of pine.

She smiled, despite herself. For better or for worse, she was home.

"Whew," Sun Wukong said, joining her at the rail. "Smells a bit like home."

She turned to him in surprise. "Where are you from?"

"Shanghai. I suppose all port cities smell about the same." He leaned against the rail. "So this is Menagerie. I have to say, it's not what I expected." He gazed down the inlets that carved into the green mountains. Blake knew them by heart, since she'd hiked over them plenty of times with her parents: Loch Long, Gare Loch. And Holy Loch, to their left and falling behind.

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but it wasn't this."

Blake watched the ferry's wake curve away from them. "After the Faunus helped stop the GRIMM invasions of the late 60s," she said, "the humans sort of woke up and realized they were now sharing what was left of the world with a new species—one that was faster and stronger than they were. There was actually a scramble to create _more_ Faunus—Europe had plenty, thanks to the Schnees, but everybody else wanted their instant armies too. They had a point; so many humans had died in the Third World War that warm bodies were needed, even with universal conscription.

"But there were enough humans that figured out we were sentient people, not really smart animals. Once things quieted down, the Faunus themselves protested for equal rights." She smiled. When she was little more than a kitten, Blake had been on the front lines of those protests, waving a sign for equal rights, even though she didn't know what that really meant, and it had been after the creation of Menagerie. She'd never really dealt with racism herself: her father was a decorated Royal Marine, her mother an equally decorated Royal Air Force pilot. If anyone called the Belladonnas names, they did so out of earshot. "Though there were a lot of humans that _did_ accept us, even some that married Faunus, there were many that hated us, or were afraid of us. So they demanded we live apart from them."

"And someone got the bright idea to give the Faunus Scotland," Sun remarked.

"Yes. It was already separated from the rest of the United Kingdom by the Midlands Dead Zones. The Scots were barely surviving as it was. So the European Union said, 'Fine, dump the Faunus there!' and off we went. Someone said it was like the world's largest menagerie, and that's the name that stuck."

Sun nodded. "What did the Scots think?"

"Strangely enough, they went along with it. They got independence from the UK—sort of; Menagerie's still part of the Commonwealth, and Queen Elizabeth is still technically the head of state. I guess the Scots figured that one pack of outcasts was joining another." Blake shrugged. "This happened just before I was born, in 1976. I came along a year later." She smiled. "Mom said that I _might_ have gotten started during the celebration of Menagerie's independence."

"And then Menagerie scored the North Sea oil strike, and all of a sudden the place wasn't so poor anymore." He laughed at her questioning look. " _That_ part I know. I wasn't asleep the _whole_ time in school…though they don't talk much about Menagerie in China."

Blake turned back to the Clyde. "Well, not all the Faunus live here, of course. Most of the ones in Asia stayed put. Same with a lot of them in South America, since the climate's not all that great for jaguar Faunus and such. And a lot of American Faunus stayed where they were, too. But about half the world's Faunus came here, because here we can be ourselves, and…" She caught herself. "And there I go, sounding like the White Fang."

Sun looked around the ferry. Nearly everyone onboard were Faunus, of every species imaginable. Whereas Blake's cat ears and his monkey tail would've at least merited a glance at Beacon, no one paid them any attention here. "Speaking of the White Fang…"

"They're more or less legal here. I mean, Sienna Khan can't walk around openly, but they can fundraise."

"Don't people know what they do?"

Blake nodded. "Sure. About half of them agree with the White Fang. The other half are too afraid of the first half. Oh, there's a few, like my folks, that speak out, but the White Fang here just blame the murders and the bombings on the radical fringe. And a lot of Faunus believe them." She remembered that had been one of the Fang's greatest weapons: plausible deniability. Even though Blake herself was wanted for various acts of terrorism across Europe, she could walk the streets of Menagerie with impunity.

Or she would have, had she ever returned home when she was with the White Fang.

They reached the shore a few minutes later, and Blake and Sun boarded a bus for Glasgow. The bus was crowded, and Blake worried someone might recognize her—but no one paid any attention to them. Neither were in uniform, but in casual clothing bought aboard the _Reagan_ at the ship's store before they'd flown to Holy Loch this morning. Now _Gambol Shroud_ and _Ruyi Bang_ were safely in a hangar at the base airfield, under armed guard; if Blake or Sun needed to get to them, it was less than an hour's drive and ferry ride from Glasgow to the base. Neither spoke much on the bus: Sun was too busy looking around as they drove through the busy Port of Glasgow, and Blake was lost in her own thoughts.

Before she knew it, the bus had stopped at the Glasgow Airport. It was the old one, at Abbotsinch; the new one, at Prestwick, was a good bit to the south. She pulled Sun out of the seat and they stepped off. He looked around. "Uh, Blake…this is the airport."

"I know. My house is this way." He followed her as they left the airport, walked under the M8 motorway, and walked for about two miles. Sun was quickly turned around and a bit lost as they walked into a downtown district. "This is Glasgow?"

"No, not quite. The main part of town is that way." She pointed further east. "This is Paisley." Sun kept looking around, to the point that Blake wanted to just hang a sign on him that read TOURIST. Finally the downtown district gave way to rows of flats. "So which one's yours?" Sun asked. He pointed to one that was a bit larger than the others. "That one?" Then to another that was garishly painted orange. "How about that one? Or maybe your folks are modest?" Sun expected the Belladonnas to live in a slightly bigger house than the norm: as some of the founders of the White Fang and some of the earliest advocates for Menagerie independence, he imagined they'd done rather well for themselves.

They reached the end of the flats—or at least Paisley's; there were more in the distance—and looked out over a park and a golf course. Blake tapped his shoulder and pointed. "That's my house."

"Holy shit," Sun breathed.

The Belladonna Lodge—or more properly, Bashaw House, though no one called it that—was on a small rise at the edge of Paisley. It overlooked a wide park; to the north was the golf course; behind the house was a walled garden. It was a stone edifice that Sun figured had been around since the 18th Century, or earlier, though there were subtle hints of not being entirely just a Scottish manor house: the flares on each end of the roof gave it an Asian flavor, and Sun remembered that Blake's mother was Indian.

There was a small flight of wide stone steps up to the front door. Blake stopped at them, remembering. There is where she had stood, sniffling in the rain, as her mother waited patiently for the bus to take her to her first day of school. The little discolored spot was where she'd slipped and fell and gashed her knee; there was still a tiny scar there. There was a spot where a particularly hardy bramble screened part of the stairway—that was where she'd stolen her first kiss from Adam Taurus.

Suddenly Blake didn't want to go up the stairs. She wanted to turn around and run back to Holy Loch, get in her Tomcat, and fly back to the United States, to tell Rissa Arashikaze—wherever she was—that they'd made a terrible mistake. But now Sun was bounding up the stairs, so there was nothing else to do but walk after him. Then they stood on the porch, the same porch where Blake had shouted at her parents that they were cowards and that the White Fang was the only way the Faunus would ever have true equality, by blood and not by talk.

"Wow. Big knockers." Sun's comment at least got her mind of that unhappy memory. It was a rather Yanglike comment. Naturally, Sun was referring to the door knockers on the lodge's double oak doors, which were rather large, at that.

Blake reached forward and took hold of one. Her hands were trembling. "What's wrong?" Sun asked.

"Last time I left here…it wasn't…well, it wasn't on good terms."

"Want me to do it?"

"No." It came out a little more forceful than she meant it to, but Blake nonetheless raised the knocker and let it fall. The sound was like a howitzer going off. Sun jumped. "Okay…that's a bit intimidating."

_Wait until you meet Dad,_ Blake thought. There was silence, and Blake wondered—and half-hoped—her parents weren't home. Then the soft padding of feet, the thump of bolts being drawn back, and the thudding of Blake's heart, and then the door opened.

Kali Belladonna stood framed by the entrance. She was, Sun noted without surprise, an older version of Blake, though her hair was cut short and her ears were much larger. She was dressed in a comfortable looking long dress and a decorated shirt with an Mandarin collar. Sun blinked: he wasn't sure what he had been expecting with Blake's mother, but although Kali had to be pushing forty, she was slim, and her bare arms showed the muscle of someone who regularly worked out. And, he noticed, she had big knockers too.

Kali actually saw Sun first, but her greeting died on her lips when she saw Blake. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again with no sound.

Blake felt her eyes starting to fill. "Hi, Mom."

"Blake?" It came out as a whisper. Kali reached forward to brush her hand against her daughter's cheek, as if to confirm she existed at all. "Blake? Is it really you?"

A tear fell to drift across Blake's face. "It's me, Mom. It's me."

"Oh my God." Kali crushed her daughter in a fierce hug. "Oh my God. You're home. My baby girl." Blake returned the hug with all the love she could, as if she could destroy all the years of running, all the hard words, and all the sorrow she'd caused by the act.

"Kali? Who is it?"

Blake's heart hammered even harder, if that was possible. There were heavy footfalls on the lodge floors, and Ghira Belladonna hove in view. Not that there was any missing him.

Sun fell back a step involuntarily. Ghira was the biggest Faunus he'd ever seen—no, Sun corrected himself, he was the biggest _anything_ he'd ever seen, including Yatsuhachi Daichi. Ghira had to be nearly seven feet, and the slacks and T-shirt he wore did nothing to hide a build that a professional wrestler would be proud of. Sun, who prided himself on his abs, felt puny and out of shape. The face matched the body: hair slicked back in the fashion of an earlier generation, and an enormous thick beard. His hands were big enough to palm Sun's head—with one of them.

Ghira stepped forward, and Kali moved out of the way. Blake wiped her face. "Hi, Dad."

His curious expression became one of utter shock. "Oh," he said at length. "You're…you're home." Then Blake saw her father do something she'd never seen him do: he began to cry.

* * *

_Naval Air Station Pensacola_

_Pensacola, Florida, United States of Canada_

_5 June 2001_

Rissa Arashikaze twirled a pen through her fingers, a nervous habit she abruptly remembered was a nervous habit. She stopped and set the pen down on the government issue steel desk in front of her; nervous habits were human traits, and it was not her job to be human.

The door opened and a young man dressed in a flight suit walked in. The flight suit had a patch with the pilot's name on the breast, and an American flag on one shoulder, but no other patches; the name patch had no wings on it, because the pilot had not earned his wings of gold just yet.

He stared at her for a moment, and she gazed back, though her look was like a someone shopping at a supermarket, looking for a choice cut of meat. His face was pleasant enough, though Arashikaze would hesitate at calling it handsome: he looked incredibly young, too young, like a little boy playing fighter pilot. _Gad, he's even got freckles,_ she thought. His black hair was a mop, tousled from just taking off a helmet.

But it was the eyes that held her attention. They were a curious shade of green, bright and oddly flecked with shards of yellow. She'd only seen eyes like that on one other human being.

The stare lasted only a second, then the pilot came to attention. "Ensign Oscar Pine reporting, ma'am."

Arashikaze nodded. "Have a seat, Ensign." He paused, then sat in the government issue steel chair. Everything in the stuffy office was government issue. "My name is Rissa Arashikaze. I'm with the Central Intelligence Agency." His mouth fell open. She sighed; Oscar would be a terrible poker player. "And you can forget you just heard any of that."

"Er…yes, ma'am."

"Now." She opened a folder on the desk and moved it forward a little, so he could tell it was his personnel file. "Ensign, you are due to graduate from flight training soon…mmm, with high marks, I might add. Congratulations."

"Thank you, ma'am." Oscar could not disguise the pride on his face. Arashikaze didn't begrudge him: naval wings were not easily earned. Not only would he have learned to fly, but he would've learned to land on carriers.

She held up a sheet of paper. "According to this, you've made it through the pipeline. You're going to fighters, yes?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, ma'am!"

"Not an easy task." That was true. The Navy needed more than just fighter pilots: only a few would make the cut. Others, who had joined with starry visions of F-14 Tomcats and F-18 Hornets in their eyes, would find themselves flying less romantic aircraft—in the attack community, the A-6 Intruder; electronic warfare EA-6B Prowlers; antisubmarine P-3 Orions and S-3 Vikings; helicopters like the SH-60 Seahawk; even transports like the C-2 Greyhound and C-130 Hercules. All important, to be sure, but they didn't make action movies about S-3 pilots. She pushed the sheet of paper across the desk. "Here are your orders, Ensign."

Oscar's eyes widened, and he couldn't help but start smiling. "Ma'am? Really? VFA-41? The Black Aces, on the _Nimitz?_ " She nodded. "Wow! Super Hornets."

"Yes, indeed." Arashikaze pulled the sheet back, picked it up, withdrew a lighter from a pocket, and set it on fire. Oscar let out a strangling noise and he reached for the burning orders helplessly, but Arashikaze held them until the flames nearly reached her fingers, then dropped them into the trash can. She admitted to herself it was overly dramatic; so much for not indulging in human habits.

Then she closed the folder, moved it, and pushed across a new sheet. Oscar, dumbfounded, looked at it. He read it twice. "I'm being detached to NAS Atsugi, Japan? But there's no squadron assignment." He looked up at her, and she almost laughed: there were actual tears in his eyes. "Shore duty?"

"Don't worry, Ensign. You're still getting a flying slot. You're still going to be flying fighters—and Super Hornets at that. Just…not for a Navy squadron, per se." She put away the lighter. "You're going to be working for me."

He set down the paper. "Ma'am…with respect. What if I say no?"

Arashikaze smiled. "Then I hope you like flying with the airlines. Because the only way you're getting out of these orders, my friend, is to resign your commission." She looked at the ceiling. "That would disappoint your mother back in Nebraska, wouldn't it? What's the little hamlet you're from—Pilger, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "Yeah," he sighed.

"Don't worry, Ensign. By the time you're done with this mission, you'll probably be a Lieutenant, and be able to name your squadron assignment. Or you'll be dead. Either way, you'll never have to worry about orders you _don't_ like again." She placed the orders in his file. "After you graduate next week, you'll fly to Atsugi. You'll get briefed further there. As far as anyone on this base is concerned, you're being detached to Atsugi for additional training. And that's all you need to know right now."

"What happens if I mention you?" Oscar said, with a trace of defiance.

"Then you're going to meet with an unfortunate swimming accident."

"Oh."

Arashikaze leaned back in her chair. "Relax, Ensign. I'm a friend." He clearly doubted that. "Now. Let me tell you about your father."

Oscar looked stunned again. "Uh, my father died, Miss Arashikaze. When I was just a baby. He died in a plane crash." He brushed a hand across his name patch. "Though he was Navy. That's one of the reasons why I joined."

"Were you told that you were named for him?"

"Yeah." Oscar's mouth quirked into a smile. "Technically, I'm a junior. Oscar Pine, Jr."

"That's both true…and not true." Arashikaze smiled back. "Your real name is Oscar Ozpin…Junior."

"What…the hell?" Oscar said after a long period of shocked silence. "That's not possible, ma'am."

Arashikaze reached down and tossed a thicker file on the table. It was banded with a red seal, now broken, marked TOP SECRET. "As I said, Ensign Pine, let me tell you about your father."


	9. Murder By Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cinder Fall returns to the sky, Qrow is grounded and accused of murder. Blake is home, but now the White Fang know she is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another somewhat quiet chapter, but we do need to catch up with Salem and Co., plus finish out Blake's homecoming. More action next time, I promise.
> 
> Also, the middle part of this chapter gets a little disturbing. Reader discretion advised.

_Mezhgorye-2_

_Near Mount Yamantau, Russia_

_5 June 2001_

Salem waited patiently for the MiG-15UTI Midget to taxi to a stop underneath the camouflage netting, the jetwash billowing her cloak around her. Once the engine powered down and the canopies opened, she stepped forward as a ground crewman brought forward a ladder. She held up a hand and he stopped.

Emerald Sustrai looked down from the cockpit. "How goes it?" Salem asked.

"Maybe you should ask her, ma'am." Emerald really didn't want to respond.

Salem nodded and stepped over to the second cockpit, just behind the first, over the wing. "Cinder? How are you?"

It was something of a rhetorical question. Cinder sat up so that Salem could see her better. Her eyes were sunken holes, without the burning intensity that had been there before. She was clearly exhausted, and as she turned, she could not stop a spasm of pain on her face. Salem gave a short nod. "I see. The arm?"

She glanced forward to Emerald, but Salem cleared her throat. "I want to hear it from you, Cinder. Not her."

Cinder coughed. "It's…better." Her voice was still barely above a whisper, but at least she could speak.

"Does it hurt?"

Cinder looked down at her new arm. It was dark, sinister, functional; there were very few asthetic parts of it. It was not heavy, made of some composite material grafted onto her shoulder, the same material the latest GRIMM were built from, connected to the remaining nerve ganglia in her arm after it was amputated. Those nerves were inflamed and painful, and every move Cinder made sent tendrils of agony up her shoulder. Knowing Salem would want to see, she uncurled the fingers with her good hand, then forced it up so Salem could inspect it. The artificial fingernails were silver, the only part of the arm that wasn't black. She didn't have to respond to Salem's question; it was obvious on her face.

"I thought it would," Salem said. "I admit that we are rushing your convalescence, Cinder, but you will be needed." She turned to Emerald. "Take her up again."

Emerald shook her head. "Miss Salem, with respect, that isn't a good idea. She can handle the stick all right, but her throttle movements are jerky. In these old MiGs, that can be a real issue. I'm helping as much as I can, but…"

Salem let her finish, her hands behind her back. "I understand. Take her up again."

"But it's the third time—"

"I gave an order, Miss Sustrai." There was suddenly steel in the placid voice, and Emerald had to look away from those red eyes. Salem looked back to Cinder. "Do you think Ruby Rose will care if you're tired? If you're in pain?"

Cinder gritted her teeth. _Ruby Rose._ The girl haunted her dreams. Pyrrha Nikos was Cinder's equal, but she'd shot Pyrrha down, and further broken her by killing Jaune Arc. But it had been Ruby that had brought her down; there had been several times Cinder had woken up in a cold sweat, hearing the sound of metal tearing, watching the F-16 ram her F-22, the right wingtip of the red-trimmed fighter missing her head by only a foot. And then the flames. Cinder saw the fingers of her new arm twitching, the fingernails clicking against the canopy frame. "No," Cinder snarled, then pulled the arm back in and reset it on the throttle. She closed the canopy. Emerald sighed and did the same, and started the engine back up as Salem walked away.

* * *

_Juneau International Airport_

_Juneau, Alaska, United States of Canada_

_5 June 2001_

Qrow Branwen stood in his flight suit at the side of the hangar his F-117 had been placed in, and shivered with the cold. Normally June was fairly seasonal even in Juneau, but a freak storm had passed through, dumping snow on the town during the night. The runways were being cleared, but the cold winds still came off the high, beautiful mountains that surrounded the city and the inlet. He took a swig of whiskey from his flask, savoring the artificial warmth.

He turned as a police car pulled up behind the hangar, and two uniformed men stepped out. It was not airport police, but Juneau city officers. He pushed off the hangar and stuffed the flask into his flight suit. He wasn't drunk, so they weren't here to keep him flying under the influence.

One of them met him halfway while the other remained by the car. "Major Branwen?"

"That's me," Qrow confirmed.

"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you this morning, but I'm afraid we have to bring you back to the station."

"What for?" Qrow asked in surprise. "I haven't done anything."

The policeman scratched the back of his head. "Well, sir…we really need to discuss this back at the station…"

"Officer…" Qrow read the name on the man's jacket. "Officer Weeks. Either tell me what I'm being charged with or let me go. I have a mission to fly."

"Sir, you're not being charged with anything—"

"Nice speaking with you." Qrow turned around and started walking away.

"She was murdered, sir." That stopped Qrow. He turned back to face Weeks. "The waitress at the End of the Line."

"Jesus," Qrow murmured. Juneau could be a rough place, and murders at the End of the Line were not unknown. They were, however, rare, and never among the staff. "Okay, why talk to me?"

"You were seen talking to her last night."

"That's all I did." Qrow had thought about taking the waitress to bed; they had met several times before, and in the short conversation they'd had after Raven had left, she had left indications that she was willing. But he was tired from the long flight to Juneau, and mentally tired from speaking to his sister. He wondered for a moment if Raven had killed the waitress, but that made no sense. Though Raven Branwen did not have a problem with murder, she never killed without reason, and there was no reason to kill a random waitress at a hole-in-the-wall bar.

"Still, sir. We'd like to take you—we'd like it if you could come in and answer a few questions."

Qrow thought about it. He could simply walk away; if they weren't charging him, they couldn't hold him. If the police got too insistent, he could simply make a phone call to Rissa Arashikaze—if he could find her card in all his pockets—and that would be that. But now he wanted to know what had happened to the waitress. "All right," he finally said, and followed Weeks back to the squad car.

* * *

The Juneau Police were polite enough to Qrow: any uniformed fighter pilot that came through Juneau was a Huntsman or a Huntress, and the people of Alaska held them in very high regard. Instead of an interrogation room, he was in a waiting room, with comfortable couches.

He hadn't been there long when a tall man in shirt and tie walked in, smoking a cigarette and carrying a manila folder. Qrow smiled; the man looked like he'd been chosen as a police detective from Central Casting. He stubbed out the cigarette and put out a hand. "Glenn Stier."

"Qrow Branwen." They shook hands, and Stier sat. "Coffee?" he offered, and Qrow held up a mug; he'd already helped himself. "I suppose there's no point talking around this." Stier opened the folder and let a few glossy photographs fall out onto the table between them.

Qrow's mug stopped halfway to his lips, and he set it down. "Fuck," he said in part amazement, part horror.

The waitress had been cute, her black hair done up in a Chinese style, just the kind of petite girls Qrow was partial to. No more. Her too-wide brown eyes stared upwards into nothingness, her face stretched and drawn into what looked to be a silent scream. Qrow had seen enough battlefield wounds to know that she hadn't died screaming—she'd died gasping for air. Below the cute face was a horrible, ragged slash across her throat; her upper torso was bathed in blood.

And that wasn't the worst of it. Qrow looked at the other pictures, fighting down the urge to vomit. The waitress had been found naked, tied to a bed, probably in the loft above the bar. Her torso was covered in small burns; there were bite marks on her legs, thighs and arms. "God," he breathed.

Stier nodded. "Major Branwen, I've been on the force now for fifteen years. Seen a lot of crazy shit in my time; people go nuts up here during the winters. And this isn't the worst murder I've seen, but it's in the top five."

Qrow forced himself to look at the pictures again. "She was tortured."

"Near as we can reconstruct, she was tied to the bed, then burned with a cigarette, repeatedly, over her entire body. And then whoever did this to her started _biting_ her." He pointed to her wrists and ankles. "The poor girl must have been utterly terrified. She actually scraped off layers of skin trying to get free. Once he—or she—was done torturing her, he cut her throat. We found a pair of scissors next to the bed."

"And no one heard her screaming or anything?"

Stier shook his head. "A gag was found at the scene. Professionally done, not just a scarf stuffed in her mouth. Whoever did this has done it before." Qrow realized the detective was looking at him.

Qrow put up his hands. "Whoa, now. I did _not_ do this, man. We talked, that's all. Then I went back to my room at the Dew Drop down the street."

Stier said nothing for a long moment, but kept staring. Then he sighed and leaned back onto the couch. "Given your reaction to the pictures, I guess you're clear. That and the receptionist at the Dew Drop Inn did see you come in. The checkout guy at the Wal-Mart also verified you bought a bottle of Southern Comfort around eleven last night. We _think_ that's when she started being tortured. Have to wait for the coroner's report, of course."

"So I wasn't a suspect after all?"

"We had to be sure, Major Branwen. You _do_ have a record." Qrow smiled in spite of himself for that. There were probably quite a bit of drunk and disorderly conducts, driving under the influence, a few simple assaults, and at least one count of grand theft auto and arson in there. Any of those normally would've ended a military career instantly, but Ozpin had always smoothed things over for him. "There is also the matter of the woman you were seen speaking with at the bar." Stier held up a grainy picture of Raven, obviously taken from a CCTV camera. "A friend?"

"She's actually my sister. She didn't have anything to do with this." _I hope,_ Qrow thought. Raven didn't torture people, but he wondered just how much his sister had changed. "She left at least two hours before. Trust me, detective, she's long gone. You'll never find her. Believe me, I wish you could, but she's probably halfway down the coast by now." _And don't even try,_ Qrow added silently. Raven might not torture, but she certainly wouldn't mind cutting a Juneau PD detective's throat and leaving him in a dark alley.

"All right." Stier pulled out a packet of cigarettes, offered one to Qrow, who took it. After they lit up, Stier blew smoke in the air. "Which brings me to my final question. What were they torturing a waitress for?" Another look at Qrow.

"Detective, I won't lie—I undertake special missions for the Air Force. But I never said anything to this girl, other than turning her down when she said she wanted to sleep with me." Qrow chuckled sadly. "Now I wish I had. We just made small talk. I didn't talk about work, other than I was a fighter pilot—but hell, half the people in that bar knew that when I walked in."

"You're sure?" Qrow nodded. Stier sighed. "And no idea who could've done this." Qrow shook his head. "Well, all right then…we won't keep you any longer, Major." Stier got to his feet, and shook hands with Qrow, who also got up. "Thanks for your cooperation."

"No problem." Qrow checked his watch; still plenty of time. Reaper flight wasn't due to leave until 0300 the next morning; he just needed to be at Elmendorf AFB before they left, and that was a good twelve hours off. Elmendorf was a about 150 miles south of Eielson, and it would give him enough cover to trail Reaper to Japan.

As Qrow left, Stier spoke. "Major." He took a draught of smoke, blew it out. "When someone does something like this, it's for one of three reasons. One, they want information. Two, they enjoy it. And three, they're sending a message." He fixed Qrow with a stare. "Watch your ass, Major."

"You bet." Qrow tossed him a salute as he left the room.

* * *

_The Belladonna Lodge_

_Paisley, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_5 June 2001_

"Mom…" Blake sighed. "Quit looking at me like that."

"I can't help it, honey." Kali reached out and touched her daughter's shoulder, again as if to reassure herself Blake was real. "You've gotten so skinny! You need to eat more."

Sun Wukong poured himself some tea. It was sweeter than he was used to, but still excellent; one problem at Beacon and aboard the _Reagan_ had been that the Americans really didn't know how to make a good pot of tea. He forced himself to look at Ghira Belladonna; the alternative was either to look at Blake or look at Kali, and looking at either made him feel the father and husband's stare. "So…you _did_ know where Blake was."

"Blake couldn't communicate with us," Ghira rumbled, "but I still have some backchannel contacts in the US Marines. We knew she was at Beacon."

"We were horrified when we heard the news," Kali said, sipping her tea and continuing to look at her daughter. "We were both so worried about you, Blake."

Ghira chuckled. " _She_ was worried," he said, nodding at Kali. "I knew you were fine."

Kali rolled her eyes. "Oh, certainly. Which was why he was pacing a trench into the floor and kept pestering the State Department every other hour." Ghira gave sort of a _harrumph_ and drank his tea. Blake smothered a giggle; her father hadn't changed.

Sun chose that moment to open his mouth, which wasn't the best decision he'd ever made. "You guys had nothing to worry about. I've seen your daughter in action, and man does she have some _moves!"_

Ghira set down his teacup very loudly, and his head came around like the main battery on a battleship. "And what is it, exactly, that you mean by that, Captain Wukong?"

Sun swallowed. "Um…she's one hell of a fighter pilot, uh, sir. I mean, she's almost as good as me. The way she throws that Tomcat around, it's like…er…I have a lot of respect for her. As a pilot. And a fellow officer. And not her looks or anything."

Ghira regarded Sun like a cat regarding a mouse it had cornered. "Are you saying my daughter isn't beautiful, Captain?"

"Uh, no sir! She is _very_ beautiful! Quite attractive! Ah, not that I had noticed or anything, just in passing, you know…guy noticing a girl, that sort of thing…" Seeing his imminent death in Ghira's eyes, Sun took the opportunity to pour another cup of tea with his tail. "I say, this is some good tea!" He slurped it down, burning his tongue in the process.

Ghira turned back to Blake and thumbed at Sun. "Did he just follow you home, or what?"

Blake thought of how best to answer that, in a way that wouldn't end with Sun's grisly death. "Kind of?"

Kali appraised Sun. He had wisely buttoned his shirt rather than doing his usual show of abs, but she could still tell what lay beneath. After looking him up and down, she turned to Blake. "I like him. You have my approval, Blake."

" _What?"_ Ghira thundered. Sun wondered if he should make a dash for the balcony window or the front door.

Kali regarded her husband mischeviously. "Oh now, come on, my love. Grandbabies come along sooner or later."

Blake nearly shot out of her chair, turning bright red, while Ghira made sounds of apoplexy. _"Mom!"_

Her mother's peals of laughter were cut short by the thump of the front door knocker. Ghira looked towards the door. "Dammit. I forgot about the fucking meeting."

Kali raised an eyebrow. "Language, Ghira. Not in front of the children."

Ghira grunted as he got up from the low table they sat around. Kali had been trying to cure him of his cursing for years, but it while one could take a Faunus out of the Royal Marines, one could not as easily take the Royal Marines out of the Faunus. He walked through the living room, down the hallway to the front door, muttering imprecations under his breath.

"Everything all right?" Blake asked.

"Mm. Poor timing. On everyone's part." Kali put her teacup down. "It's a meeting, Blake. With the White Fang."

"The _what?"_ Blake shot to her feet.

Kali quickly got to hers and put a hand on her daughter's arm. "Blake, you know they can operate openly here. Trust me, it's not Adam Taurus, and I sincerely doubt it's Sienna Khan. More than likely it's the Albain brothers. Please, Blake, you're safe here. Your father will reschedule the meeting."

_I'm not safe anywhere,_ Blake wanted to say. Not for the first time, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming here, that she was endangering her parents by doing so—not that Rissa Arashikaze had given her much choice. _God, was that what that damn spy wanted? To draw Sienna or Adam into the open by using me as bait?_ She thought about running, but where could she run to?

And then she remembered Adam's words: _you always run, Blake._

She wrenched her arm away from her mother and stalked towards the door, ignoring her mother's pleas. Sun jumped up to follow her.

* * *

Blake got there just as Ghira had greeted the Albain brothers. She'd only met them briefly during her time in the White Fang. Fennec Albain was well-named: he was a fennec, very short, with huge ears that rose from a closely cropped head of hair. Corsac, his brother, was a wolf Faunus, big, stocky, with smaller but still prominent ears and a shaggy tail. They were not twins, and in fact were only half-brothers, but they looked enough alike that some people mistook them for at least fraternal twins. Both Faunus wore sharp-cut business suits, with a White Fang pin in their lapels—the blue emblem, rather than the red, clawed one Sienna preferred.

Corsac saw her first and his ears went up in surprise. "Miss Belladonna!"

Fennec was a little better at concealing his emotions, but he looked surprised as well. "We had no idea you'd returned, Miss Belladonna."

Blake thought that was a good thing; it meant the White Fang weren't watching Holy Loch. "Flew in on the morning flight to Prestwick," she lied, and walked up next to her father. She wasn't sure why; she probably should have hid. But Blake was tired of hiding. "How are you, gentlemen?" She held out a hand.

Corsac was old-fashioned: he came to attention, bent over, and kissed her hand. "A pleasure to see you again, Miss Belladonna." Fennec, again, did the same.

Ghira noticed Sun standing just behind, and decided hospitality extended to him, as well. "Sun Wukong, this is Fennec and Corsac Albain, of the White Fang." He deliberately omitted Sun's rank; the less the Albains knew, the better.

Both Albains bowed, but Sun didn't bother returning it. "What are those psychos doing here?" he snapped.

Corsac smiled and put up his hands. Blake noticed his claws were well manicured. "Mr. Wukong. I'm not sure what you may have heard about our organization, but I can assure you, we're nowhere near as ferocious and evil as the media might have you believe."

"The media, hell," Sun returned. "We saw it firsthand. At Beacon."

Blake's eyes never left the Albains. "We saw them slaughter unarmed men and women." She remembered the body of Ciel Soleil, lying next to her burned out F-15, and the dead security policemen. To say nothing of all the dead fighter pilots, shot down by the White Fang on the ground or Adam in the air.

Ghira folded his massive arms across an equally massive chest. "Well, gentlemen? Is that the lay of it?"

To Blake's surprise, Fennec sighed, and nodded slowly. "It is, Mr. President. As much as it pains us to admit it, Miss Belladonna and Mr. Wukong are entirely correct."

"Explain," Ghira ordered.

"Our North American branch is no longer operating under the orders of High Leader Khan. They have gone rogue. They have disavowed the peaceful approach we've been taking towards reconcilation with the humans, for a more…direct approach, I am afraid." He glanced at Blake. "They have chosen to follow Adam Taurus."

"Oh, bullshit," Blake growled. "Sienna Khan was _at_ Beacon! I saw her! So did plenty of others—"

Ghira held up a hand. "Blake, please."

Corsac looked pained. "Miss Belladonna, I do not know who you saw at Beacon, but I can assure you, it was not the High Leader. There are other tiger Faunus—"

"I'm not blind!" Blake shouted. "Goddammit, I _saw_ her—"

"Enough!" Ghira's command instantly quieted her, as it always had. Almost always.

"She was not there," Corsac insisted. "Our High Council has long suspected the existence of a splinter group under Mr. Taurus' command, but this incident has confirmed it."

"Incident?" Sun yelled. "People died, you idiot!"

"And we regret that considerably," Corsac said, as Ghira shot Sun a warning glance.

Fennec stepped forward to look up at Ghira, who had about three feet on him. "Mr. President, we came to assure you that the actions of the White Fang at Beacon do _not_ represent the actions of the White Fang as a whole."

Ghira looked down at him. "Then why didn't High Leader Khan come herself? Why did she send both of you?"

Fennec stepped back, and sighed. "It was originally her intention to do so, Mr. President, but unfortunately we have reason to believe that foreign organizations may try to assassinate the High Leader. We have heard rumors of a CIA plot." _Oh, wonderful,_ Blake thought to herself. Maybe she _was_ bait, after all. "In any case, High Leader Khan wishes to assure you that she _will_ meet with you at the nearest convienence, as soon as we can be assured she will be safe. She will bring ample documentation from our council meetings, as well as a strategy to bring Adam Taurus and his group to justice."

"I will inform the Ruling Council of this," Ghira replied. "And High Leader Khan can rest assured there are no foreign plots to kill her. Or domestic ones." He put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "But not today. I have not seen my daughter in some time, so I'd like some time to reconnect with her."

Both Faunus smiled. "Of course," Corsac said. "We completely understand." He gave a quick, respectful bow to Kali, as did Fennec. Neither acknowledged Sun's existence. "It is good to see you again," Corsac said to Blake. "We were saddened when we heard you had left the White Fang, but given your, ah, history with Adam Taurus…it is understandable."

Blake fought back the thoughts of Adam, and the urge to plant her fist between Corsac's eyes. "Thank you."

"If you ever decide to come back, you know where to find us," Fennec added. "But it is a wearying fight, at that."

Her mouth quirked into a predatory smile. "Who said I'm done fighting? Maybe I just found better allies."

"Of course. May we remember you to Ilia Amitola?"

Blake was taken utterly by surprise, which was Fennec's intention. "Ilia? She's here?"

"Why, yes. Not here in Glasgow, but over in Edinburgh. I will let her know you're back, if that's all right."

"Uh, sure. Yes, that would be fine. It would be good to see her again." Blake managed to recover. She _did_ want to speak to Ilia. She knew it was Ilia who had almost shot Weiss down over Mountain Glenn, and that Ilia had spared the security police sergeant in Iowa. She doubt anyone in the White Fang knew about the latter; Sienna would have had her killed for that.

"Gentlemen?" Ghira said, and the Albains knew a dismissal when they heard one. They inclined their heads, turned as one, and walked down the stairs.

"What a bunch of assholes," Sun observed.

Ghira shooed them back, closed the door, and turned to Sun. "Captain Wukong. This is my house. And while you are in it, you will comport yourself with the dignity and grace befitting your rank, and not use foul language or insult my guests, no matter how much they may or may not deserve it." He shook his head at the monkey Faunus. "You should know…I don't like you very fucking much."

* * *

The Albains got into their car. As they shut the door, Fennec smiled. "An interesting development, Blake Belladonna returning home."

"Very," Corsac agreed.

"Should we inform Adam?"

Corsac grinned and turned the key. "Most certainly."


	10. Rock You Like a Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper Flight makes its way to Japan, and comes under attack from Tyrian Callows. One against four? Tyrian's brought some friends. 
> 
> Of course, so has Reaper...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally up to the big dogfight between Tyrian and Reaper Flight! Hopefully the action here will make up for the last two chapters being a little quiet.

_Sea of Okhotsk_

_Near Sakhalin, Eastern Siberian Dead Zone_

_6 June 2001_

Lie Ren, despite himself, yawned. He shifted around in the ejection seat of his J-10. It was never the most comfortable seat in existence, and after six hours in the air, his rear end was starting to hurt.

They'd gotten up at 0400, with it very much sunny outside; Eielson was near the Arctic Circle, and the sun never really went down this time of year. An evening with an amorous Nora had left Ren a bit sore, a bit tired, and quite happy. They'd made love, and talked, and slept, and made love again. Certainly Nora was her usual bubbly self this morning, and Ren had noticed Ruby and Pyrrha smothering grins. The good mood had lasted through Ruby's morning brief, on the flight between Eielson and their fuel stop at Shemya in the Aleutians—a fortress of a base that was known as the worst post in the entire USAF. But when they'd crossed the devastated, irradiated dead zone of the Kamchatka Peninsula, Ren's good mood had begun to evaporate.

He knew why. As they crossed the Sea of Okhotsk at 30,000 feet, he could see the distant coastline of Sakhalin. Beyond the coastal range would be Zonalnoye, now listed on the maps as Kuroyuri. Or, more properly, the ruins of Kuroyuri. He'd known from the moment that Rissa Arashikaze had given Reaper Flight its orders that they would be passing near his former village. There was nothing to be done about it, so Ren had simply accepted that fact. Nora had asked him when they were at Vulcan if he wanted to pass over the ruins. He'd answered no; it was a town of the dead, and he'd buried his family, physically and mentally, years ago.

"Reaper Flight, comm check." Ruby's voice shook him out of his thoughts, which he was grateful for.

"Reaper Two." Pyrrha was flying on Ruby's wing, about a mile to the left of _Crescent Rose,_ using her radar to sweep the sky in front of them—the "eyeball" to the rest of Reaper's "shooters." Both the F-16 and the F-22 were about five miles ahead.

"Reaper Three," Ren checked in.

"Reaper Four." Nora sounded tired. Ren was not surprised: once more, due to the A-10's lack of autopilot, Nora was hand-flying the aircraft. Worse, the A-10 was again burdened with heavy ferry tanks; if they ran into GRIMM, all Nora had was a brace of Sidewinders and the gun. They all were carrying external tanks, but they could, in theory, still dogfight with them. If they were forced to drop their tanks, the J-10 and F-22 had enough fuel to make it to their destination—Chitose, Japan, on the northern island of Hokkaido—but Ruby's F-16 and the A-10 would need a tanker to make it, unless Ruby and Nora wanted to go swimming. Even in June, the Sea of Okhotsk would be very cold.

"Stand by for turn in five." Ren clicked his mike twice in response. Reaper Flight would not overfly Sakhalin, since GRIMM could be hiding in the mountains there, and the last thing they wanted was a dogfight. Normally, above 30,000 feet, they would be safe, but the appearance of the Beringal GRIMM meant that not even that altitude was secure. Instead, they would parallel the coast, then make the short run across the La Perouse Strait to Hokkaido. Ren wondered if Ruby had made that flight plan because she feared Beringal, or out of deference to him.

He watched the sky around him, something else that was tiring, but something that a fighter pilot never stopped doing if they wanted to live. He checked his radar warning receivers, which were clear. No threats. There was no AWACS coverage here, and Japanese radar could not penetrate this far north. Airliners flew a more southern route, trading the extra fuel for safety.

Ren twisted around in his seat. Something didn't feel right. He looked up. Above Reaper was a solid overcast, cirrus clouds at 40,000 feet. Below it was clear to the blue of the sea. He clicked his mike. "Ruby, Ren. I'm going to do a sweep behind."

"Ren, Pyrrha. Maintain position; I'll do it." Ren acknowledged. Ahead, he saw Pyrrha turn and begin an easy turn to the left, to do a circle and check behind them. It made sense: Pyrrha's radar was more powerful, and it kept their radar emissions to a single source. If GRIMM were tracking them, they would see only the F-22.

It was at that moment that all hell broke loose.

Something dropped out of the cirrus; if Ren had not been looking in that particular direction, he might've missed it. It was about two miles in front of him, and whatever it was, it was painted black. It was also making a beeline for Ruby. "Ruby! Break right, GRIMM!" Ren shouted. He shoved the throttle forward and switched on his radar. Whatever it was, he wasn't getting a solid lock, but he pulled the trigger anyway. "Ren, Fox Three, Maddog!" The last was to let Reaper Flight know that he was not guiding the missile; the AMRAAM was relying on its own radar, which tended to lock on to whatever was directly in front of it. Hopefully it would be the GRIMM. Ruby had not questioned the break call. The F-16 was making a hard right turn, though not as tight as normal, due to the external tanks.

The GRIMM rolled to the left, turning back towards the missile, and Ren murmured a vile Chinese curse; the missile couldn't make the turn and sailed off into the sky, unable to find a target. The GRIMM turned broadside to Ren for a moment, and he stared at it. It was a compact design, with the engines set out on the wings, and a fuselage that blended into a nose chine. Canards stuck up from below a bubble canopy, and the twin tails were canted inwards. Aside from the canards, it looked like someone had superdeformed a SR-71.

 _It has a canopy,_ Ren thought. _That's not a GRIMM. Someone is piloting that._

Ren opened his mouth to warn Reaper Flight, but now the not-GRIMM was turning in his direction. Nose on, he noticed a bulge below the fuselage. What the bulge was was answered a second later, when it sparkled. Ren dived the J-10 as cannon shells reached out for him. He came out of the dive after only a second, bringing up the nose to fire his own cannon, but the aircraft hadn't followed him down: it was making another hard turn, going after Ruby.

* * *

Ruby cheated the turn as tight as she could; any more and the tanks would rip off the F-16, and damage the aircraft.

"Ruby, Ren! That's not a GRIMM!"

"What the hell is it, then?" Ruby wondered, though she didn't hit the mike button. Then she saw it. _Wait, I know what that is! It's…well, oh shit, it's firing at me._ She twisted away from the cannon shells, but then the stick nearly flew out of her hands as _Crescent Rose_ shuddered with a hit. Ruby's eyes instantly scanned her instrument panel, but no fire or failure lights were on. The strange fighter swept past and she glanced at it. There was a pilot in the cockpit, and he was looking back at her. It was hard to tell on through the mask, but she could've sworn he was grinning at her.

 _I'll give you something to grin at, motherfucker,_ Ruby thought angrily, and turned into him. The F-16 responded sluggishly. "Ah, shit," she groaned. "The tail." She clicked the mike button. "Reapers, Ruby, I'm hit. Bandit is a Skorpion, repeat, classify bandit as Skorpion."

Instead of the hard turn, it was more of a lazy one, and Ruby knew it. The Skorpion easily outturned her; Ruby punched off the external tanks. She was going to need a tanker, but it was either that or she was going to need an undertaker. She might need the latter anyway, as the Skorpion began to pull in behind her.

"Pyrrha, Fox Two." Ruby looked up and saw the F-22 charging towards them, tanks gone. The Sidewinder shot ahead of her, and the Skorpion abandoned its attack, diving away, dropping flares—but then the nose of the aircraft came up and tracers shot through into the Raptor.

Or where the Raptor would have been, if Pyrrha hadn't expected that: she thrust-vectored her fighter straight down, passing the Skorpion nose to belly. Ruby tried to come around to help, but the Skorpion suddenly shot upwards, disappearing into the clouds. Instead, Ruby put the F-16 into a shallow dive, as Pyrrha came up to cover her. "Reapers, channel three," Ruby ordered. The flight switched frequencies. "Pyrrha, give me a look-over."

The F-22 slid up next to her as they descended through 20,000 feet. "Ruby, you've got a hole through the upper part of your rudder. No other damage that I can see."

"Oh, did the little rose get hurt?" The singsong voice sent shivers up Ruby's spine. "That's too bad."

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

"My name is Tyrian Callows. Who, exactly, I am matters not to you," the voice taunted. "Or to you, Lie Ren. Or…well, you _do_ interest me, Pyrrha Nikos. A shame about your boyfriend, by the way." Ruby glanced at Pyrrha, but the Raptor stayed where it was; that taunt had hurt, but Pyrrha wasn't going to fall for it. "Or…oh my, where did Nora Valkyrie go? Did she stall into the ocean trying to make a turn in that slow Warthog of hers? Oh well, too bad." The voice paused as Ruby and Pyrrha searched the sky above, and Ren looked frantically for Nora. "No, Ruby Rose, I matter only to you."

"Come on down, asshole," Ruby snapped.

"Oh, the rose has thorns!" Tyrian laughed. "Why, my little flower! I'm here to whisk you away with me! Well, after I shoot you down. But don't worry, I'll be careful. You can eject, and you'll be picked up. My queen wants to meet you."

 _My queen? What the fuck?_ Ruby asked herself. "What if I don't want to meet your queen?"

"Then I guess I'll just have to take you."

"You'll do it over us," Pyrrha snarled.

"I was hoping you'd say that. One down, three to go. And don't worry, Ren and Pyrrha…a friend of mine provided you some playmates."

The RWR in Pyrrha's F-22 sounded an alarm. She looked at her RWR, then her radar. "Pyrrha to Reaper. Contact, multiple bandits, twelve o'clock low, two Spin Scan." That meant MiG-21s. No one around here flew MiGs, so it meant air pirates. Pyrrha sighed. There really was no other choice. "Ren, take Ruby and evade south. I've got these." _Eight against one,_ she mused as she moved the throttle forward. _I've done this before. And if I don't make it…_ she smiled. _Be seeing you, Jaune._

* * *

Tyrian listened to the radio call and laughed to himself. This was going perfectly. Nora Valkyrie had crashed, Ruby's F-16 was hit, and Pyrrha would be distracted, though he doubted the air pirates would be more than a distraction. He'd kill Ren, force Ruby to bail out, and then maybe get a distracted Pyrrha as a bargain.

Then there was a flash of sunlight in the mirrors set into the canopy bow. He glanced up, and slammed the stick forward. A second later, a hail of thirty millimeter cannon fire went through the spot he had been.

Nora had cleaned off her tanks, and, noticing that no one was paying attention to her, slowly climbed through the overcast. While Tyrian was running his mouth, she had been stalking him. She dived after the Skorpion, but it was too fast. "Reapers, Nora! Almost had him, but he's diving—six o'clock high, Ruby!" The clouds parted around her. She switched to Sidewinders, but Tyrian was just too fast.

"Ren, on him." Ren, who had joined up with Ruby, turned into the Skorpion and fired a Sidewinder. Once more Tyrian evaded the missile with flares, then shot past. Ren realized that he'd committed too fast; Tyrian bore on Ruby with singleminded ferocity. "Ruby, check six!" he called out.

* * *

Ruby was already watching the Skorpion. She began slowly weaving the F-16, as if she was hit worse than she was, one finger on the speedbrake switch. _A little closer…little closer…gotcha._ She suddenly climbed and opened the speedbrakes, the butterfly flaps on either side of the Viper's engine. It had the effect of killing her speed, forcing the Skorpion into an overshoot. Tyrian fell for it and went past her. Ruby pulled in the brakes and slammed the throttle forward, dropping in behind him, but the Skorpion was already turning. She turned with Tyrian, knowing she'd never stay behind him; he was too quick, and _Crescent Rose_ just wasn't able to make the tight turns it normally could. A quick glance behind: Ren was coming around, and Nora was bearing down. Ruby made a quick decision. "Nora, Ruby, break off! Help Pyrrha!" Nora didn't acknowledge, but she saw the A-10 flatten its dive and go overhead. Then she looked across the circle she and Tyrian were on the outer edges of. His nose began to point towards her, and she saw the missiles slung under the Skorpion's narrow fuselage. She dropped a few flares; he was going to shoot.

"Crow 13, Fox Two on the Skorpion."

Tyrian heard the call and broke off, climbing hard. The missile turned to follow, but the Skorpion's engines were baffled like the F-22's, so it gave up and optimistically locked onto the nearest heat source: the sun, shining through the clouds. Ruby watched the Skorpion as she came out of her turn, and inside her mask, her mouth fell open in the second surprise of the day. " _Uncle Qrow?!"_

The F-117 seemed to come from nowhere as it followed the Skorpion into the climb.

* * *

Pyrrha watched the eight bandits come closer. They turned in her direction, and she noticed a ripple go through the formation. A veteran pilot could tell when their opponent was hesitating, was shocked, or was green. She suspected it was all three.

The closing speed was too fast for AMRAAMs, so she selected Sidewinders. Then the specks grew to objects, and her eyes narrowed. "Reaper, be advised, bandits are two Fishbeds, two Frescos, two Fitter-As, and two Mayas." She used the NATO reporting names for the MiG-21, MiG-17, Su-7, and L-29 Delfin.

"Someone knock over a museum?" Nora said.

"Pyrrha engaging." She pushed the throttle up a bit, suddenly broke hard to the right, counted off a second, then swung back into the fight. As she'd expected, the maneuver had thrown the bandits into confusion, but one of the MiG-21 pilots had not been fooled. He fired two missiles at her. She accelerated, dropped chaff and flares behind her, and trusted in the F-22's stealth for the rest. Both missiles spun past, neither coming close, as she went to guns. The cannon spoke a half second later, chopping into the MiG just behind the cockpit, where the fuel tank was. The MiG-21 disintegrated and she rolled over the burning wreckage. "Pyrrha, splash one." Out of the corner of one eye, she saw one of the MiG-17s turning into her. The gun-armed MiG-17 was no pushover and could maneuver quite well, but it could be sluggish at high speeds and low altitude; the air bandit had forgotten that. Pyrrha hadn't. She fired a Sidewinder, and the MiG-17 joined its comrade in spiraling down towards the beach of Sakhalin. "Pyrrha, splash two."

* * *

Tyrian fought against the press of gravity as he craned his head around. He stared in shock. He was being followed by a F-117. Despite its designation, the Nighthawk was no fighter, even if had fired a Sidewinder at him. He'd heard Ruby's call on the radio, and nodded. He toggled the radio as he pulled into an Immelmann and rolled down to engage. "Qrow Branwen," he said. "A true Huntsman has entered the fray!" He cackled. "Did you get my message in Juneau?" Tyrian opened fire with the 30 millimeter cannon underslung the Skorpion's fuselage.

Qrow rolled away from the shells with seeming ease, and to Tyrian's surprise, fired a few back at him; for the second time today, Tyrian escaped death by a foot or less.

* * *

"Ren, Ruby," Ruby called out. "Go to channel five." She was hoping this Tyrian was going to be too busy to bounce frequencies again. "Ren, go help Nora and Pyrrha."

"Ruby—"

"That's an order, Ren." The J-10, which had been trying to join up with her, rolled away, and Ruby put _Crescent Rose_ into a lazy circle, throttling back, conserving fuel. And looking for an opening.

* * *

Tyrian fired a missile at the Nighthawk, but the missile failed to guide; the F-117 was, after all, designed not to reflect heat. He fired another, but Qrow dodged that one; the F-117 wasn't supposed to do that, either. Tyrian got in behind the Nighthawk, but Qrow broke into him, and the two ended up in a rolling scissors, each trying to get the better of the other, but then Qrow's nose suddenly came up and the Skorpion overshot. The Nighthawk's cannon pounded away and Tyrian felt a hammer blow against the back of his seat. The armor plate held, but for the first time in a long while, Tyrian Callows felt fear.

* * *

Qrow saw the sparkle of a strike behind the cockpit and smiled. Whoever this Tyrian Callows was—and he had a fair idea—he was a damned good pilot; it had been all he could do to stay with him. The F-117, even Qrow's heavily modified one, was simply not designed for this, but Qrow suspected that even if he'd been in Pyrrha's Raptor, the Skorpion still would've given him a run for his money.

But now it was over. The Skorpion fluttered, fell over on one wing, and went into a terminal dive. Qrow nodded: hopefully he'd killed the bastard. He followed the Skorpion down, half-hoping Tyrian would eject so Qrow could gun him in his parachute. Normally he was the less bloodthirsty one of the Branwen twins, but after what Tyrian had done in Juneau, he was willing to make an exception.

Then Qrow suddenly realized he'd been had. The Skorpion straightened, then came out of the dive, then snapped over in a hard right break just over the waves. Qrow had to climb as well or go into the water, and he had to start his pullout earlier since the Nighthawk was nowhere near as responsive.

The Skorpion continued its turn and got in behind Qrow.

* * *

Pyrrha watched a Su-7 go down, trailing smoke and flame, the pilot trying to keep the nose up long enough to bail out. "Pyrrha, splash three." She shook her head. Air combat was never fun, not for her, but this was less a battle than a massacre. Her opponents were green as grass, flying antiques.

"Nora, splash one!" She watched and saw one of the L-29s disintegrate under Nora's Avenger gatling cannon. The L-29 was a trainer—a responsive one, in the hands of a good pilot, but also not designed for combat. The other was trying to run as Nora closed in on them. With a quick scan of the sky, Pyrrha took in the situation: Nora was on the other L-29, but one of the Su-7s was racing in to stop her: it was more suited to ground attack than air combat, but it had heavy cannon and it was fast, so it represented a threat to the A-10. Pyrrha opened the throttle a little, waiting for the Fitter to edge out a little as she selected an AMRAAM. She saw Ren arrive and engage the MiG-21, which had been headed towards where Ruby, Qrow, and this Tyrian lunatic was.

The Su-7 pilot abruptly realized he was being marked and abandoned his pursuit of Nora. Pyrrha rolled in anyway, when she suddenly remembered she'd missed one of the bandits—the remaining MiG-17. Instinctively, she twisted around, to see the squat, snubnosed fighter sitting right between her tails. Her hand was already moving, snapping the stick to the right to break, but the MiG's heavy cannon opened fire, and a shell hit the F-22.

Pyrrha felt the hit, which nearly sent the Raptor out of control for a moment. She climbed hard, knowing she could easily outdistance the old MiG, and checked the instrument panel. _No fire lights, engine temperature looks good, but he hit something, I felt that…idiot Pyrrha! You stupid ass!_ she cursed herself. _Sitting in a 5_ _th_ _generation fighter and you get hit by a damned fighter that was obsolete before my parents were born! Stupid, stupid!_

Then she knew what had been damaged. Smoke began to pour into the cockpit and into her mask. A look at the radar display: it was blank; her radar was dead. Now the fire light came on. _Onboard oxygen system is hit._ She kept the F-22 jinking as she began to roll back into the fight. The instrument panel was getting hard to see, and she coughed. Pyrrha pulled the mask off, and dived, praying nothing else was hit. Below 15,000 feet, she wouldn't need oxygen. The smoke was getting so thick that she could barely read the altimeter, and seeing out of the canopy was now impossible. She coughed again, harder, and Pyrrha ran through her options. She could try to fight like this, and perish when she got disoriented and flew into the water or choked to death on fumes. She could eject and pray that neither the air pirates nor the cold water didn't kill her. Either way seemed a surefire way to die. It tempted her for a moment. She might not be actively suicidal, but neither did Pyrrha care overmuch what happened to her. If she lived, that was fine, but death was no longer something to be feared, if it ever was; if anything, it was now a friend, welcoming her to see her friends and Jaune again.

She dismissed that. _Not yet._ There was a third option.

As Pyrrha came out of her dive, she did two things. She switched off the oxygen system, which hopefully would starve the fire, and then pulled the emergency canopy release. She ducked down in the cockpit as the canopy blew off, banged once against the fuselage, and went to parts unknown. Instantly, a four hundred mile an hour wind threatened to rip her out of the cockpit and follow her canopy, but she ducked down a little lower. The wind instantly cleared the smoke, and the fire light went out.

The slipstream battered her, and Pyrrha put her mask back on just to protect from the bitterly cold wind. She throttled back as much as she could, and tried to stay behind the instrument panel, the only thing that now gave any protection from the wind.

And then she saw the MiG-17. She had ended up below and behind it. The pilot had made the same mistake she had: he or she had gotten overconfident. It was flying along in level flight, and as she watched, it began to turn in Nora's direction. Pyrrha pulled up the nose and fired a Sidewinder. It instantly locked onto the MiG-17's exhaust, guided true, and blew the tail off. The MiG tumbled end over end into the water.

 _Well, that's a first,_ she thought. _I hope my radio still works._

* * *

Qrow looked into the mirrors in his canopy frame and let loose a string of curses. He couldn't see the Skorpion. He was more mad at himself than anything else: Tyrian had suckered him, then caught him out of energy, and the cockpit of the F-117 was not known for good visibility. He twisted and turned, but knew it was a matter of time until he got tagged, unless he figured out how to get the Skorpion off his tail. And he was running out of sky and airspeed.

Something hit him a hammerblow on the side.

"Ruby, Fox Three!"

* * *

Ruby had seen her chance. As Qrow had climbed, Tyrian had gotten in behind him, firing. The Nighthawk was out of energy—but so was the Skorpion. Ruby had picked her moment, and fired. It was still a hasty shot, but she was locked onto the Skorpion.

Tyrian cursed himself much as Pyrrha had, because he'd made the same mistake; worse, he'd completely forgotten about Ruby Rose, so wrapped up in the dogfight with her uncle. He snapped the stick over into his left knee, falling over on one wing, and slammed the throttle forward to the stops as he dropped his last packet of chaff behind him. It was enough to break Ruby's lock, but now the AMRAAM's onboard radar clicked on. Its robot brain had a choice of three targets: the F-117, the chaff cloud, or the Skorpion. It ran through them, and decided that the Skorpion provided the best target; the fins turned slightly and it accelerated towards its target.

Tyrian waited a precious half-second, and twisted hard to the right. It saved his life. The AMRAAM detonated, sending fragments spiraling through the Skorpion. Tyrian felt something hit him in the side of the head with enough force to knock his helmet into the side of the cockpit, which was alive with alarms. Frantically, he dumped the gunpod and the missiles and headed west at full speed, despite the Skorpion threatening to shake itself apart. "She'll forgive me," he cried, tears running over his mask, "she'll forgive me."

* * *

"Yeah, that's right," Ruby said, "run, you little bastard." She locked on with her last AMRAAM.

Then she noticed the F-117. It was rolling away, leaving a trail of smoke, and wobbling dangerously. Ruby glanced back at the Skorpion, looked at her fuel, then broke off to go help her uncle. "Qrow, Ruby, are you all right?"

There was no response at first, then Qrow's gravelly voice, sounding a bit more gravelly than usual, came through. "Ruby, Qrow…yeah, I'm hit. Lost an engine." He sounded pained. "Can't make Chitose." The F-117 came back to level flight, and she flew up alongside him. The Nighthawk's rear fuselage was pitted, and she saw one hole distressingly close to the cockpit.

But she had her flight to take care of, too. "Ruby to Reapers. Go to channel base plus one." She hoped Tyrian wouldn't guess that the base number was zero. "What's your state?"

"Ren, ten thousand pounds, two active, three heat, no damage. Scope is naked, splash two," he added. Ruby translated that: he had ten thousand pounds of fuel, which was enough to make to Chitose with a little to spare; Ren had two AMRAAMs and three Sidewinders, had shot down two bandits, and there were no threats on his radar.

"Nora, six thousand pounds, two heat, no damage, splash two!" Ruby winced; that was not enough to make Chitose.

"Pyrrha, fifteen thousand, three active, two heat, splash four. Have taken damage, cannot make Chitose!" Ruby could barely understand her; it sounded like Pyrrha was yelling in a tornado.

Ruby checked her fuel. She had two Sidewinders left and one AMRAAM, plus the gun, but her fuel was no better than Nora's, and that was assuming the rudder wouldn't tear itself apart before they reached Japan. And then there was Qrow. She reached into a kneepad with one hand, pulled out her map, somehow got it unfolded by taking her mask off and using her teeth, and looked. The nearest airfield was Kuroyuri. It was marked as abandoned, but it was better than nothing. "Reapers, divert Kuroyuri." She checked her navigational display, and tapped in the coordinates. "Steer one-nine-zero, distance, ah, fifty. Check in."

"Crow 13. Understand Kuroyuri." The F-117 began slowly turning southwest.

"Reaper Two, roger!" Ruby wondered what was going on with Pyrrha. She waited for Ren and Nora to come up, but there was no response. "Reaper Three and Four, roger my last?"

"Reaper Three. Roger. Divert Kuroyuri." Ren's voice sounded more subdued than usual. Nora chimed in a moment later, sounding no more cheerful than Ren had.

They joined up a moment later, and Ruby saw Pyrrha's canopy was gone. She was ducked down into the cockpit as far as she could go, the nose held up; Ruby shook her head in wonder. There were times she wondered if Pyrrha was even human and not some autonomous weapon system; she was that good. Qrow was struggling along, staying in the air, but occasionally the wing would dip a moment before he recovered it. And her own _Crescent Rose_ was still sluggish. "Aren't we a group of sorry bastards," Ruby chuckled ruefully. She keyed her mike. "Pyrrha, can you make it?"

"It's rather windy in here!" Pyrrha replied, somehow finding humor in their situation. "But I'm tactical!"

"Roger that. Crow 13, how're you doing?"

"Ruby, Crow 13. No prob." The wing dipped a bit again. "No offense to Pyrrha, but I'll need to land first. I, uh…I think I'm hit."

"You're definitely hit, Crow 13," Ruby confirmed.

"Nah, Ruby. I think _I'm_ hit." Ruby edged in as close as she dared. Qrow held up a glove to the canopy.

It was bloody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyrian's aircraft exists: it is the PZL-230 Skorpion, intended as a low-cost, stealthy attack aircraft for the Polish Air Force. It hasn't gone into production, and as far as I know, it's never progressed beyond the full-scale mockup. Luckily, it gave me a "scorpion" for Tyrian to fly, since the only other alternative would've been the old 1950s-era F-89 Scorpion. That would've been a very short chapter.
> 
> Pyrrha's trick with the canopy probably is impossible; I actually had the idea in the back of my head for a planned novel that takes place in Korea, and the main character does the same thing in a F-86. It sounds cool, though, and something that Pyrrha would do, so I ask the reader to have a little suspension of disbelief.
> 
> And there's a bit of in-joke humor on the chapter title...


	11. Dark Side of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow has been badly wounded, and Reaper Flight has to make a decision who to send for help, and who will stay behind in the ruins of Kuroyuri--and why Ren and Nora are so nervous about the place. 
> 
> Meanwhile, in Germany, Weiss gives her concert, but the reception does not go well at all. But she might have an unexpected ally...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of an infodump chapter, as Ren and Nora explain what happened at Kuroyuri in this universe and we catch up with Weiss.

_Kuroyuri Airfield (Zonalnoye)_

_Sakhalin, Eastern Siberian Dead Zone_

_6 June 2001_

There were no ladders that they could find at the abandoned airfield, but they did find some ropes. Qrow was able to climb down under his own power, but he collapsed on the tarmac, leaving a trail of blood to the cockpit. Reaper Flight made a makeshift stretcher out of an old cot Ren found, and they got Qrow into an office off the side of the hangar.

Ruby was shaking in fear. _I can't lose him,_ she kept thinking. _No more, please. Please, God, no more._ Her hands were at her mouth as Ren and Pyrrha gently turned Qrow over. He gritted his teeth and took a drink from his flask. "Does it hurt?" Ruby asked.

"What do you think?" Qrow shot back. He took another drink. "How bad is it?"

Pyrrha looked at Ren. Other than basic first aid, she had no training in this sort of thing. Ren apparently did; at least he'd volunteered for the job. "Looks like shrapnel," Ren finally said. "Cannon shell hit behind the cockpit, and you got hit by fragments."

"Can you get them out?" Qrow asked.

"The biggest ones, maybe." He looked up as Nora came running into the hangar. "No luck," she reported, panting. "No first aid kit I could find."

"We'll have to make do with our vest kits." Using survival knives, they carefully cut Qrow's flight suit off above the waist. He had no wounds from the front, just in the back; Ruby felt the bile in her throat. Qrow was bleeding from at least six places, from pin-sized fragments that had barely broken the skin, to one piece that was sticking out of him about the size of a playing card.

All four of Reaper Flight pooled their survival vest first aid kits, which yielded more than enough bandages and antiseptic; luckily each one came with a needle and thread, and Ren, to their surprise, knew how to stitch. As he unpacked the kits, he turned to Ruby. "Ruby, go and look around for anything we can use. See if there's any fuel left."

"But—"

"Ruby, you're making Ren nervous, and you're making _me_ nervous!" Qrow shouted. "Go do something useful, dammit!"

"O-Okay…" Ruby was shocked at the vehemence in her uncle's voice.

Pyrrha exchanged a look with Nora. "I'll go with you, Ruby." She got up, dusted off the legs of her flight suit, and shooed Ruby out of the hangar.

"I'm sorry," Ruby said as they left. "I'm scared."

"It's all right. I'm sure Qrow isn't angry at you. He's just hurting."

"Sure would like to know where the hell he came from. And what can _Ren_ do?"

Pyrrha massaged her face. The mask and helmet had covered most of it, but parts were still numb from the cold. "Ren and Nora…they came up rather hard. They were refugees. I should imagine that Ren has picked up more than just first aid along the way." She hugged Ruby. "Please don't worry. Let's take stock of what we _do_ have."

* * *

It wasn't much. Pyrrha's F-22 was holed behind the cockpit; the shell had gone completely through the aircraft, taking the oxygen system with it. Other than the canopy being gone, there was no further damage, but Pyrrha wasn't going anywhere with the aircraft. Qrow's F-117 had an engine gone. It was still flyable, as the other damage was superficial, but it was by no means combat ready. Ruby's F-16 had a large hole through the rudder, but was otherwise undamaged. Ruby patted _Crescent Rose's_ nose in sympathy; her F-16s seemed to be destined to be shot up. Ren's J-10 and Nora's A-10 were in good shape, though Ren was low on missiles and Nora was low on fuel.

As it grew dark, Reaper Flight gathered around the F-16. Ruby leaned against the fuselage while Nora paced, and Pyrrha and Ren sat crosslegged on the dusty floor of the hangar. Ren bit off the end of a protein bar; it was all they had to eat. "I stopped the bleeding, removed the bigger fragments and the ones that are easy to get at," Ren told them. "And I've stitched him up as best I can. But he's still feeling cold and feverish. I think he might have internal bleeding. There's shrapnel too deep for me to get to." He spread his hands helplessly. "I'm sorry, Ruby. I gave him some painkillers. He's sleeping."

"It's okay. You did your best." Ruby sighed. "We've got to get him to a hospital. Is there any on this island?"

"None," Ren answered, his voice brittle. Nora stopped pacing, walked over, and sat down next to him, putting her head on his shoulder.

"He can't fly," Ruby mused. She ran her hands over the wing. "All right. Here's what we've got to do. We can't radio for help because we're in a radio dead zone. The mountains here block line of sight and we don't have satellite coverage this far west. The good news is that Chitose will realize we're overdue pretty soon and send someone looking for us. The bad news is that they'll give us about three hours before they do, and then it's probably another few hours before they find us. Uncle Qrow might not have that long.

"Ren, Nora…you've got to fly to Chitose. Let the Japanese know what's going on, and they can fly a C-130 or something up here to medevac Qrow out. Pyrrha and I will stay here with Qrow until you come back. Maybe our Air Force has a C-141 or a C-5 or something at Yokota they can send up for Pyrrha's Raptor. My '16 can make it as long as I go slow and don't have to dogfight or anything."

"Sounds good," Nora said, "but I don't have the gas to make Chitose. The nearest tankers are at Kadena. Even if I called them when we're back in radio range, they'd never make it before I'm going swimming."

Pyrrha smiled. "Ruby and I found the fueling station here. If the fuel is still good, we can top off your A-10. There's no power so we'd have to do it by hand, but the Warthog can be refueled by hand, yes?"

Nora grinned. "It's a pain in the ass, but you betcha." The A-10 was designed to operate from pretty much anywhere it could find a decent runway or road. Most modern aircraft had to use computerized systems to refuel, because it was faster and more efficient, but the A-10 could be refueled with jerrycans if necessary. "The question is… _is_ the fuel still good?" She looked at Ren.

"This was a modern airport," he replied quietly. "Modern fuel systems. If the fuel tanks belowground stayed airtight, it still should be good enough. And the JASDF used this as an emergency base for a few years after Kuroyuri…fell."

Ruby squatted down next to him. "Ren," she said gently, "you've been here before."

Ren didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the concrete in front of him. Nora looked at Ruby, her eyes pained. "We both have," she told Ruby. Nora paused, then opened her mouth, but Ren reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. "Do you remember Mountain Glenn?" he asked Ruby.

"I try not to," Ruby replied with a smile.

"During the 1980s, every surviving nation on Earth tried to retake the Dead Zones from the GRIMM and rebuild. Some had better luck than others." Ren gazed around the hangar. "Kuroyuri was a joint Chinese-Japanese attempt to resettle Sakhalin Island…maybe bury some old rivalries at the same time. China was still divided between Communist and Nationalist back then. My father, who was a Major in the People's Liberation Army, was put in charge of the Chinese half of the effort here. He, my mother, and myself moved here in 1981. I was six then."

He smiled. "I wish you could have seen it then. They completely rebuilt the town, renamed it Kuroyuri. It was beautiful. We even had koi ponds—my mother loved koi. We didn't have a large garrison on the island, about a battalion of infantry from China and a squadron of JASDF F-104s and helicopters based at this airport. After the initial landings of troops, the GRIMM went away, and aside from the occasional air attack that the JASDF fended off, it was quiet." He looked at Nora, brought her hand up to his lips, and kissed it. "And that's where I met Nora. That was about, oh, 1984 or so."

"How the hell did you end up here?" Ruby asked. "You're an American, Nora."

Nora shrugged. "Beats me. I'm two years younger than Renny. I don't remember my folks; all I've been able to find was that they lived in China—maybe State Department or something. I'm pretty sure they got killed in a GRIMM raid. Anyway, I ended up in a refugee camp on the south side of the island. It sucked, so I ran away. I ended up here, and Ren's family took me in." They squeezed hands again. It was a summary at best: the refugee camp had been hell itself, where the older children stole food from the younger ones, who starved. Nora had been six herself, and when Ren had found her, starving and suffering from rickets, she had just tried to steal bread and been beaten up for her trouble. Ren's father had gotten Nora some food and medical care, but had insisted that, once she had gotten better, she would have to return to the refugee camp.

"And then the GRIMM came," Pyrrha said. She'd heard snippets of the story back at Beacon.

"Yes," Ren sighed. "The GRIMM came. My father defended Kuroyuri as best he could, but his battalion was wiped out. Nora and I ran, got on a truck, and ended up here. The Japanese evacuated us, and whoever…got out in time. My mother didn't make it. I don't…know…" His face worked, and Nora leaned closer. It was the most emotion Ruby or Pyrrha had ever seen on their friend's face.

"You don't have to say any more." Pyrrha got to her feet. "Time is not with us. We need to refuel Nora's A-10 as quickly as possible." She began jogging towards the fueling station between the two hangars.

Ruby nodded. "I'll go check on Uncle Qrow." Fatigue dogged at her, and she wanted to lay down and sleep. But the longer they waited, the more of a chance Kuroyuri would claim another victim.

Ren and Nora got up and began walking slowly after Pyrrha. "You didn't tell them," she whispered.

"Tell them what?"

"About the Nuckelavee."

He shook his head. "It's been destroyed. Kuroyuri has been destroyed. What would be the point?"

* * *

_National Theater Munich_

_Munich, Germany_

_6 June 2001_

"That's precisely my point!" Jacques Schnee said, gesturing with his champagne glass. "We pay Faunus exactly the same wages as human workers. Menagerie's argument is completely invalid, right off the bat."

The man he was speaking to nodded. "Be as that may, Herr Schnee, the bigger issue here is our society as a whole."

"Do you mean Germany?" Jacques made a scoffing noise. "Herr Sleet, please."

"Herr Schnee, you cannot deny the economic disparity between us and the other members of the European Union. And this embargo on the United States is not helping matters."

"Still," a short, middle-aged woman said, "there is opportunity here. We could increase our economic ties with South America. Why, they've hardly had any GRIMM problems."

"An excellent suggestion, Frau Camilla."

Weiss Schnee rolled her eyes. She stood just behind her father. Her throat was a bit sore from singing, her feet hurt in the stupid high heels she was wearing, and the dress she wore ended well above her knees, making her feel chilled, although the reception area of the opera house was warm enough. No, Weiss mused to herself, it was the company that was cold.

The reception was crowded with expensive suits made in Italy and expensive dresses made in France. A cacophony of voices, languages and accents assaulted her ears and drowned out the string quartet's best efforts at Beethoven. Weiss found herself missing the smoke-filled, low ceilinged stag bar at Beacon, with its smells of unwashed bodies and cheap beer, and carrier landings and Ruby's drunken rants. And Yang's boneheaded self-confidence, and Blake's deadpan snarks. And Jaune and Pyrrha and Ren and Nora and all the rest.

"I'm getting something to drink," she told her father. He nodded absently and continued to argue with Reinhard Sleet and Camilla Dias. Both were politicians.

Weiss threaded her way through the crowd and found a waiter. He was carrying a tray of beer and champagne. With a quick glance of defiance at her father, Weiss grabbed a beer, fended off the waiter's offer to open it for her, and tried to find someplace where she felt like she could breathe without smelling cologne and perfume.

That place ended up being the large painting that took up a third of one wall. She pulled the top off the beer and took a drink, while she regarded the painting. It was titled _The Fall of Beacon,_ and it depicted the Wyvern under attack by the fighters of Beacon. The painter had taken liberties—apparently the defenders of Beacon flew nothing but Typhoons, single-seat F-4s, and F-104s, the Wyvern was twice the size it actually was, the GRIMM bore a strange resemblance to TIE fighters, and western Wisconsin looked like Monument Valley, Arizona. _Other than that,_ Weiss snorted softly, _it's accurate._ It was well painted, at least.

"You two are a good match." Weiss turned at the voice. He was dark-haired and dressed in a nice, if outdated suit, the hair was combed down over one eye. He thumbed at the painting. "You're both beautiful." Weiss chuckled at the obvious pick-up line and took a pull at the beer. When she said nothing afterwards, he smiled. "And that was my attempt to break the ice. How am I doing?" His German was decent.

"Would you like me to be honest?" Weiss asked, in English. He nodded. "You're terrible at it."

"Guess I asked for that." He stuck out a hand. "Henry Marigold." She placed the accent: English public school education.

"Weiss Schnee." She took the hand and gave it a single pump.

"I know. I watched your performance. It was excellent— _Carmen,_ right? 'Micaela's Air'? I was a bit surprised to hear Bizet in a German opera house."

She nodded. "Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Marigold, we Germans do not exclusively listen to Beethoven and Wagner." Weiss didn't feel like adding that her father had wanted her to sing Wagner's _Leibestod,_ but she had refused.

"No, of course not. And I'm not just saying your performance was excellent because you're a beautiful woman."

"A little better," she told him.

"What's that?"

"Your attempts at flattering me."

Marigold laughed self-consciously. "Is it working?"

Weiss took another drink and sized him up. He was not bad looking at all. Much to her chagrin, she felt the temptation to baldly ask Marigold if he wanted to sleep with her, and if he did, finding a convenient corner of the opera house. Schnee security was watching her too much to get a hotel. Weiss had no idea what brought that thought on: she was still a virgin, and she'd only had one beer and a glass of champagne. Then she knew what it was: it was a way to get back at her father. Marigold was a means to an end, nothing more. "What are you here for?" she asked, mainly to buy time as she considered having a one-night stand. One part of her mind was shouting at her, asking what she was doing; the voice oddly sounded like Winter. The other part screamng to take Henry Marigold someplace quiet and bang his brains out sounded distressingly like Yang.

"Honestly? My dad has season tickets, and we're on vacation, so I took in your masterful performance, and now I'm snagging me some free food and drinks. And the nice company." He laughed. "I don't even know what the charity is for."

Weiss' amorous thoughts instantly faded. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's like UNICEF, right?" Weiss' eyes rounded in shock. She pointed at the sign underneath the painting. It read SHOW WE CARE: ALL PROCEEDS GO TO DISASTER RELIEF FOR WISCONSIN AND THE FAMILIES OF BEACON AIR BASE. It was in three languages. Marigold nodded. "Oh yeah. Okay. Whatever."

"'Whatever'?" Weiss finished the beer. "I was at Beacon. I flew in that battle." She pointed at the painting. "And I lost friends there. Good friends."

Marigold abruptly realized he'd made a mistake. Several of them. "Ah, sorry. Really. I got nothing against the military—my cousin's a mercenary—"

"Get out." Weiss' voice was cold.

"Huh?"

"Get out before I call security and have you _thrown_ out." He opened his mouth and Weiss pointedly looked at the burly security guard about ten paces away. Marigold gave a quick nod and retreated. She watched him until he went out through one of the ornate doors.

"Asshole," Weiss said quietly. She stood there for a moment, emotions roiling, then motioned towards a waiter. She replaced her empty bottle with a full one, and twisted the top off that one as well. She faced the painting, then raised the bottle in salute and took a long drink.

* * *

With nothing else to do, Weiss wandered back in the general direction of her father. She was about halfway there when she passed a couple, dressed exquisitely, the woman speaking a shade too loud. It was obvious she'd had a bit too much to drink. Weiss somewhat recognized the woman: she was a mildly famous actress. "But really," she said, "does it come as any surprise, what happened to the Americans?" She said it in English, and to Weiss' surprise, her accent marked her as American herself. "A long time coming, if you ask me."

Her husband had noticed Weiss. "Ah, honey…"

"What?" She laughed. "You said the same thing last night! If they're so arrogant that they think they can violate treaties, then I say they got _exactly_ what they deserved."

"Shut up." The words were out of Weiss' mouth before she realized it.

"Excuse me?" The actress whirled on her. "What did you say to me?"

Weiss took another drink of beer, and faced the actress squarely. She didn't care anymore. "I said, shut up. Are you hard of hearing?" She raised her voice; it easily carried across the room, even through the din of voices. " _Shut. Up."_

The actress stared at her as if Weiss had turned into a dragon and breathed fire. "How dare you—"

"How dare _you?"_ Weiss snarled. Conversation ceased in the reception, and after one missed chord, so did the string quartet. "What do you know about it?" She looked past the actress, at all the expensive suits and dresses. "What do _any_ of you know about it? You don't have a clue. None of you do!" She stabbed a finger at the painting, like she had with Marigold. "None of you were there! You're all just standing around here talking about _nothing!_ Worrying about your hair, and your money, and your fucking problems that don't mean a goddamned _thing!"_ She kept speaking in English, because she knew that everyone in the room spoke it. Some might not understand German, and she wanted all of them to hear.

"I-I—" the actress stammered.

"I told you to shut up," Weiss ordered. She glared at the room, eyes blazing with blue ice. "Jaune Arc. Dove Bronzewing. Ruth Lionheart. Ciel Soleil. Gwen Darcy. Bolin Hori. Any of you know those names? Any of you?"

Jacques Schnee had finally made his way through the press of the crowd. "Weiss, that's enough!"

"How about Penny Polendina?" Weiss nodded, ignoring her father. "Oh yes, you all know _that_ name, don't you? You know her because she died testing Schnee GmbH equipment—and that's all you care about! The equipment, and how much money you lost!"

"Weiss, that is _enough!"_ Jacques grabbed her arm and began pulling her towards the entrance.

"Let go of me, dammit!" she yelled.

"You are embarrassing the family!" He flung her towards the main doors. Weiss nearly fell, but one of the security men caught her. "Take her to the car and drive her back to Schnee Manor."

Weiss was half-dragged out of the reception, and Jacques turned sheepishly to the crowd, putting his hands up. "My apologies, _mein Damen und Herren._ My daughter is quite overstressed—combat, you must understand. She lost friends there at Beacon, as she said, and she is…having trouble coming to terms with it. Just overtired." The crowd was looking at each other, and Jacques was not sure if he was reaching them.

He saw a tall blonde woman walking out. She brushed past him with barely a look. "Miss Hill," Jacques said. "There is no reason to leave, because of my daughter's, ah, breakdown—"

"Breakdown? She's the only one making sense around here," the tall woman replied. "Thank you for the party, Herr Schnee."

* * *

_Schnee Manor (Herrenschiemsee)_

_Near Munich, Germany_

_7 June 2001_

Weiss sat on her bed, knees drawn up to her chin. Her heels had been hurled into a corner, and her hair, which had pinned on its side in its bun, was now down around her shoulders. She had been tempted to do a lot more than that, to smash everything in the room in an epic rage, but she stopped herself. She was not a teenager; she was a Luftwaffe officer. She would not do that. Crying was not authorized.

The bedroom door opened to admit Jacques. That was not a surprise. What did surprise her was that her mother, Willow, trailed in his wake. She had come to the performance, but not the reception, because there was alcohol around. Weiss wondered how long her mother could keep from drinking. Her record was three months.

Willow closed the door behind her, and Jacques stalked over to stand in front of his youngest daughter. "Unbelievable," he growled. "Absolutely unbelievable. What do you have to say for yourself, Weiss? Do you have any idea how stupid you made me look tonight, and how much you cost us? And I'm not talking about money! I'm talking about reputation!"

"I want to leave," Weiss said evenly.

It stopped Jacques' rant. "What?"

"I want to leave. I don't need to stay here any longer. I want to leave."

Jacques laughed humorlessly. "I don't give a damn what you want, young lady. This isn't about you! This is about the Schnee family name, and you dragging it through the mud, with what you did tonight, and your actions at Beacon, with that damned flight of yours and that Faunus—"

Weiss shot to her feet. "That's enough, Father! I have done _nothing_ but uphold this family name! I did my best at Beacon, and you know it!" She stared up at him, fists clenched. "What do you care, anyway? You married into this family."

Willow gasped at that. Weiss was too busy glaring at her father to notice the slap before it rocketed into her cheek. She nearly fell, and caught herself on her bed. "Jacques, stop!" Willow shouted.

Weiss rubbed her cheek, then got back up, once more staring at her father. "If you touch me again," Weiss snarled, in a voice barely above a whisper, "I'll kill you."

Willow stepped forward, even as Jacques gamely held his ground. "Weiss, please," she pleaded. "This is what we're talking about, this…this behavior. We have to keep this family together. We've already given one daughter to the Fatherland. Do we have to give two? You nearly died at Beacon!"

"I'm doing what I know is right, Mother," Weiss replied, looking at her. "And that does not include wasting my time at charity balls. I am a fighter pilot of the Luftwaffe, and while I am sitting in my room, other people are actually _doing_ something." She waved at the window. "These people—these crass fools that you associated with at that concert tonight. They're not real. They're whistling past the graveyard, thinking that the good times will always continue, while the GRIMM just wait out there for an opportunity. Once they're done with the Americans, they'll come for us." She returned her attention to her father. "You want me to do something with the Schnee name, Father? Fine. Then let me do it as a fighter pilot."

Jacques shook his head slowly. "No, you won't. You're not leaving here, Weiss. Not even the manor grounds. You are going to remain here until you and I can have a civil conversation about your future." He turned on one heel and began to walk to the door. "Your behavior is a clear sign we failed as parents." Weiss let that one go; if her mother hadn't been in the room, she would have had some choice words about that. "If you wanted my attention, Weiss, you have it—and I'm starting by keeping you right where I can see you."

"So I'm a prisoner, then."

Jacques turned back to her. "Yes, if you want to call it that." He held up a finger. "Don't, Willow. This is for her own good." He threw Weiss a look of utter contempt. "You're acting like a child, Weiss. And when children act up, they get grounded." He flung open the door and stalked out.

Weiss took a deep breath, trying to get control of herself. Willow, not sure of what to say, began to leave as well. "Mother," Weiss said, "this is only going to make things worse. I have duties in the Luftwaffe. People will ask questions."

Willow stopped, and turned sadly to her daughter. "Weiss…your father is planning on calling the Luftwaffe high command tomorrow. He's going to ask that you be separated from the service due to post-traumatic stress disorder. It will be an honorable discharge, but a discharge all the same." Her hands twisted in front of her. "And you know your father. He gets what he wants." Willow went back to her, put a hand on Weiss' shoulder. "Please, Weiss. Just go along with him. He'll come around. Once things have calmed down, we will get you reinstated and the whole thing will be forgotten."

"Leave me alone, Mother."

"Weiss—"

"I said—" Weiss reined in control of her voice. "I said leave me alone. Please."

Willow hesitated, then drew her daughter into a hug. Weiss did not return it. Then her mother left, and as the door closed, Weiss could hear her begin to cry. _Makes sense,_ Weiss thought, _since I'm going to do the same._

Then the door opened again, and to Weiss' utter astonishment, it was Whitley. "What the hell do you want?" she shouted, feeling the tears on her face.

"Peace, peace." He held up his hands. Whitley shut the door behind him and walked to stand next to his sister, who sank onto the bed. He looked awkward for a moment, then pulled out a hankerchief and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she sniffed. "Come to gloat?"

"Weiss, come on."

"I'm sorry," she said, handing the hankerchief back. "You didn't deserve that."

"No, I didn't. And you didn't deserve _that_ —" he pointed in their parents' direction "—even if you did act like a mad bint at the reception." He nodded. "Yeah, I saw it. I was on the other side of the room. Nice job in scaring the shit out of Henry Marigold, though. We're at Eton together. He's a twit."

Weiss lay back on her bed. She was trapped here. She could live with that, if there was some hope, but now her father was going to sabotage her career on top of it. She was exhausted, she was upset, and she needed a really good cry at the least, and she was not going to cry in front of her brother.

"You serious about wanting to get out of here?"

Weiss sat up at that. "What did you say?"

Whitley was at the window, his back to her. "I said, are you serious about wanting to get out of here?"

"What are you playing at?"

He turned back to her, a faint smile on his lips. "No playing, Weiss. You want to leave? I don't blame you. I can't wait for the next semester to start so I can get the hell out of here. But if you want to leave…" Whitley shrugged. "I'll help you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakhalin being in a radio dead zone is a little far fetched, but not impossible: there were areas like that along eastern Siberia in the 80s. But it is something of a literary device here. Jet fuel can, surprisingly, last for a very long time if it's sealed properly.


	12. Eye of the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghira has a surprise visitor, while Blake struggles with her past. 
> 
> But her past has caught up to her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to catch up with the Belladonnas. Zootopia fans might get the in-joke with Ghira's secretary. The character of Charles Tabey is borrowed from the classic anthropomorphic comic "Omaha the Cat Dancer," though it's a much older version.

_Office of the President_

_Glasgow, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_7 June 2001_

Ghira Belladonna sat down behind his desk, and cracked his knuckles. The sun wasn't far up over the mountains, and he was looking forward to the workday. Ghira enjoyed work, even if the paperwork necessary to run Menagerie wasn't the most interesting thing in the world. His title of President was more symbolic than anything else; the real power in Menagerie was in the Council, and his job was more to act as a referee to keep the factions from bogging things down too much. Still, there was work to be done, and with the fiscal year coming to a close, he needed to work on the budget. That was a cure for insomnia if there ever was one, but nothing was getting Ghira down today. Blake was home, and all was right with the world.

Someone knocked on his door. "Aye," he called out.

His secretary opened the door. She was short, with fluffy white hair, a sheep Faunus that acted as Ghira's filter, younger than Blake; she knew computers, which he didn't. "Mr. President, someone to see you. She doesn't—"

"—have an appointment." The secretary was gently pushed aside, and Sienna Khan stood in the doorway. "Hello, Ghira. Been awhile."

Ghira took back his initial thought: if there was something that _would_ get him down, it was the appearance of the High Leader of the White Fang. "Sienna," he rumbled. He looked past her to his secretary. "Do I have any appointments this morning?"

"No, sir."

"Then it appears we have some time to chat, Sienna." He motioned to the seat across from his chair. "Belle, bring us some coffee." Though Ghira did like his tea, he preferred coffee at work. And he had a feeling he was going to need it.

Sienna walked into the office like she owned it—something that Ghira knew she fervently wished to do. She wore an expensively-cut women's business suit, black edged in red, that ended in a skirt below her knees, a red cloak thrown over her shoulders. She took it off and draped it across the back of the seat, and said nothing until coffee was served. Neither took milk or sugar. Belle closed the door.

"What brings you here?" Ghira asked. "I'm impressed at your courage, walking around in the open like that."

Sienna smiled. "I'm not wanted for anything."

"Not here, no. The Americans are a different story. There's a rumor going around that the CIA wants you dead. And I imagine MI6 would like a word with you as well."

She sipped at the coffee. "Are you planning on extraditing me, Ghira?" Before he could answer, her smile became a smirk. "It doesn't matter, does it? The Council makes that choice, and half of them favor the White Fang."

"They wouldn't if they knew what you have been up to recently." She raised an eyebrow innocently, and Ghira set down his mug. "As the Americans would say, cut the bullshit, Sienna. You were at Beacon. You led the assault."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." To Sienna's credit, her face was unreadable, but as far as Ghira was concerned, that was an admission of guilt. An innocent person would have been noticeably shocked at his accusation. "I was in Menagerie during the Battle of Beacon. I heard about it on the BBC, same as you."

"Can you prove that?"

"The Albains will vouch for me, among others."

Ghira snorted. "I'm not surprised your pets will vouch for you." He ran a clawed finger around the rim of his coffee cup. "I have witnesses as well, Sienna. People who saw you there."

"There are other tiger Faunus." Sienna cradled the coffee cup in her hands and continued to smile. "May I assume that your daughter is one of the witnesses?"

"I see the Albains reported her presence here." He wasn't surprised.

"Mm-hm. I'm glad to see she's well—despite the best efforts of Adam Taurus." Sienna shook her head. "He led the assault on Beacon, not I."

"He was in the air, in his Moonslice. He did not lead the ground assault. You did." He said it with finality. "I listened to that message that was broadcast after that Penny Polendina was killed. That was you. I know your voice."

Sienna shrugged. "Believe what you want, Ghira."

"It's not what I believe. It's what the Council will believe." He tapped the desk. "Because I'm going to tell them."

"You may wish to hurry, since I intend to tell them myself." Sienna took a drink and set the cup on his desk. "That's what I came to tell you. I request time to address the Menagerie Council myself, regarding these heinous attacks by Adam's rogue group. I have a plan to bring him to justice."

Ghira laughed, slapping his thigh. "Oh, that is rich. What are you going to do-give him a seat on the Council?"

"Actually, that's _my_ plan, Ghira."

Now it was Ghira who raised an eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

"Well, you _do_ know that Charles Tabey is getting on in years."

Ghira laughed again. "You mean ancient. And yes, I'm aware he's has COPD, cirrhosis, and gout. But he's beaten cancer, had more surgeries than Michael Jackson, and will probably outlive all of us. And unless you know something I don't, he's not leaving the Council. He's been there since it started." Ghira knew Charles Tabey well, though it was not a friendship. Tabey ran Menagerie Oil Limited, and was the wealthiest Faunus in the world. He had bought Edinburgh Castle and turned it into his home and personal fortress. Tabey supported the White Fang, though Ghira suspected it was more due to fear than actually agreeing with the White Fang's goals.

"How strange. He told me he intends to step down next month. And I intend to stand for his seat, with his endorsement."

Ghira could not keep a scowl off of his face. The area of Edinburgh that Tabey represented was gerrymandered to ensure Tabey would get reelected every year. If Tabey instructed his constituents to vote for Adolf Hitler, they would do so. Sienna would easily win an election there. "It will be…interesting to have you on the Council, Sienna. I've always believed in the old saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer."

Sienna stood. "We're not enemies, Ghira. We shouldn't be. Both of us believe in Faunus rights."

"I believe in Faunus rights. You believe in Faunus domination."

"I believe in taking a hard line with the humans, yes. It's the only way they will listen!" Her voice rose, and for a moment, Ghira saw the fanaticism in her eyes. It had always been Sienna's weakness.

"Which is why you attacked Beacon," Ghira stated.

Sienna sighed. "I see you're convinced, Ghira. Well, it won't make a difference. When I present Adam Taurus to the Council, giftwrapped on a silver platter, you're going to look like a damned fool."

"I'm not holding my breath."

"I would think you'd been keenly interested in bringing to justice the Faunus that tried to kill your daughter." Sienna made a show of thinking about it. "No, that's not correct. He crippled your daughter's friend Yang Xiao Long. He spared Blake because the stupid fool still loves her. Though I must wonder if she still loves him. Perhaps _she_ spared _him?_ "

Ghira stared at her. "Sienna, I know far more about my daughter's relationship with Adam Taurus than you do. Of course she still loves him—she loves the boy he used to be, not the monster you turned him into."

"I did nothing. That was all him." She shrugged. "You can ask him when I bring him in front of the Council in chains."

"We'll see."

"Yes. We will. Because you're not the only one who sees that maniac as a threat, Ghira." Sienna settled her cloak around her shoulders, although Glasgow was actually suffering from unseasonable summer heat. "I request time to present to the Council this afternoon. An hour will suffice."

"Not today." He looked at his schedule. "Three days from now. You can have two hours then. We're debating the budget this week."

"Ah." Sienna walked to the door and opened it. "Thank you for the coffee, Ghira. In three days, then." She bowed slightly, and left, closing the door.

Ghira watched the door for a long while. He wasn't sure which was more disconcerting: the fact that Sienna was running for a seat on the Council, or the fact that he actually believed her about Adam Taurus.

* * *

That night, Blake leaned against the balcony, trying to get her courage up, and looked at the stars. It was still warm, and the air smelled good, the wind coming off the pines to the south. When it shifted and came off the River Clyde to the north, it was not as pleasant. She looked at the low mountains in the distance. _I should go hiking while I'm home. I haven't done that in years._ Blake smiled, thinking of when she was a kid, chasing the sheep around the foothills while her parents tried to stop her. There were some good fish ponds up there too. The water would be cold, but she remembered skinnydipping with Adam in those ponds...

_Dammit._ Her good mood evaporated instantly. She hated Adam, and yet she could not deny that they had wonderful memories together. There was a time when she had been waiting on this very balcony, and saw him climbing up one of the trees to make the leap. It had been insane—Ghira and Kali had warned her to stay away from Adam Taurus, as he was trouble, but that just made it sweeter at an age when most teenagers like to defy their parents. He'd barely made the jump, almost racking himself on the railing, but then he'd seized her and kissed her like it was their last night on earth. They'd managed to sneak past her parents and made very passionate, very quiet love in her bed, the experience enhanced by the thrill of maybe getting caught, and doing something her parents had forbidden her to. Even now, it sent a shiver through her, and she felt a little pang of the old desire for him.

She stared at the door to her father's office. Ghira had not been in a good mood when he'd gotten home. He'd said nothing during dinner, while Kali chatted away with Blake and Sun about the day. Sun, who was never one to be a homebody, had gone exploring, taking in Paisley's market and checking out a little of Glasgow proper. Ghira had eaten sparingly, excused himself, and retreated to his office. Blake wanted to know what was wrong; he had left this morning in a good mood, laughing over breakfast, giving her a noogie, and even being civil to Sun.

Blake loved her father dearly, although she'd always been closer to her mother and lived in some fear of Ghira. However, while she had been sweating out the drill instructor at Parris Island and withstanding officers' training at Lejeune, Blake realized how much she was like her father. She'd inherited his same toughness of mind and spirit, the same stoic willingness to endure. The choice of the US Marine Corps for her hiding place was not so strange after all. He had been stern with her, but never rough; disciplined her, but never maliciously. That discipline had stood her well in training: she could take anything the DI could dish out, and both of them knew it. When other trainees fell out, unable to go on, Blake kept going. She'd never been coddled, and in the Marines, it was weakness to have been coddled.

Blake had graduated alone in both places, watching as other trainees and new officers were congratulated by their families. She knew her mother was proud of her, and had forgiven her a long time ago, but despite his words and actions, Blake still wasn't sure about her father. He'd been warm enough when she'd returned, but there were still things between them.

"You know, you can always go in and talk to him." Blake jumped, startled as Kali walked onto the balcony, carrying a tea tray.

Blake smiled wanly. "No, it's okay. I don't want to bother him. He's got a lot on his mind."

"A father is never too busy for his daughter," Kali assured her.

"Not all my friends would agree with you on that."

Kali leaned forward and kissed her daughter on the cheek. "Your father is hardly Jacques Schnee." She handed her the tea tray. "Here you are."

"What? No, Mom!" Kali began to walk away. "Where are _you_ going?"

"Your friend Sun is regaling me about the heroics of Ruby Flight—and himself, of course." Kali winked, and went inside.

"Half of what he says is bullshit, Mom!" Blake called out after her. Then she looked at the tea tray, sighed, and went to the office door. She opened it with her rear, and walked in.

* * *

Ghira was looking over some paperwork. He'd taken off his suit and donned a pair of jeans and a bathrobe; a pair of spectacles was perched on his nose. He did not look up. "Kali, is that you?"

"It's me, Dad."

Ghira put down the paper and took off his glasses. "Blake! Well, that's a nice surprise." He got up and walked down from his desk to the table that sat in front of it. There was a couch and a recliner next to it, and he dropped into the latter as Blake set the tea on the table. "Sit, sit. I'll get the tea."

"I don't want to keep you if you're busy."

Ghira waved it off. "Trust me, I could use the break." He picked up the caddy and poured two cups, then put a cube of sugar in hers. "You still take sugar, right?"

"Actually…well…"

Ghira looked embarrassed. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay."

He handed her his teacup. "Here, take mine."

"Really, it's no big deal, Dad."

"Are you sure?"

Blake nodded. "Yes, sir."

Ghira stopped and set down the tea. "You know…I think I might have a better idea than a spot of tea." He got up out of the recliner, walked over to the shelf, and opened the liquor cabinet. "How does a little Johnny Walker sound?"

"Dad?" Blake asked. "You're offering me _scotch?_ "

"I think you're old enough." He paused. "Marine."

Blake stared at him, then laughed. She pushed aside the tea tray. "Liquor me up, Dad."

He laughed too, and poured both of them a glass. He handed hers to her, and sat down. Ghira raised his glass. "To our wives and sweethearts."

Blake raised hers. "May they never meet." Then both took a swig. It went off like a bomb in Blake's stomach, but it was a pleasant explosion. "Whoof."

"I'm sorry. I forgot you've probably never had any scotch."

"Dad," Blake grinned, "I have actually drank quite a bit of scotch. In fact, about two months ago, everyone except Weiss got so drunk that we had to be carried back to our rooms." It wasn't quite true; Weiss had dragged Ruby back, and Yang had been dragging Glynda Goodwitch the width of the sidewalk while singing the _Macarena._ Blake remembered none of that, since Cardin Winchester had carried her back to the dorm like a sack of potatoes. She'd also woken up next to Yang. But Ghira didn't need to know any of that.

Ghira put down his glass. "Blake, sometimes I forget that you're not ten anymore. That you're a grown woman." He looked at her. "Speaking of which, aren't you cold?"

"Sir?"

He motioned at her. "It just seems like your outfit…doesn't cover very much."

Blake self-consciously covered herself. None of her wardrobe had survived Beacon, so she'd been forced to make do with whatever she could buy at Patuxent River and aboard the _Reagan._ At the moment, she was wearing a pair of her mother's shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt with the globe and anchor of the USMC on it. Kali was shorter than her daughter, so the shorts were more than halfway up Blake's thighs. "Well, it was a bit hot outside today."

Ghira sighed. "Sorry. Again." He smoothed his beard, something Blake recognized as an old nervous habit. "Blake…you've grown up to be such a fine young woman. It's a…a Dad thing." He got up again, went to his desk, pulled out two framed photographs, and handed one to her. It was Blake when she had graduated from Parris Island, an unsmiling shot of her in Marine dress blues. "One of my friends in the American Marines sent us these. I have never been more proud of you than when I saw this picture. Unless it was when I saw this one." The second picture was Blake in her flight suit, leaning against a F-18. She was only faintly smiling in that one, the bow in her hair; the sunlight had caught her lieutenant's bars just right. "So you don't have to call me sir, Blake. You've earned the right. Hell, now you outrank me." He smoothed her hair gently. "Though you'd better still call me Dad."

Blake set down the pictures, leaned forward, and put her hands to her eyes. She shook her head, but the tears still came, and she began sobbing. Ghira drew back. "What? What's wrong, Blake? What did I say?"

"How can you still love me after what I did?"

He came around the couch and sat next to her. "What are you talking about?"

"You were right, Dad!" she cried. "You and Mom were right. And I shouted and yelled and cursed you and called you cowards."

"Blake, that was years ago—"

"When I came back—after I left the White Fang—we were in such a hurry, and I was in such a fog. I don't even remember if I said I was sorry."

"You did," he reassured her.

"But I've had time to think about it. I wasn't just staying away because I was hiding from the White Fang, Dad. I was ashamed. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I hid. That's why I wore that ribbon. Not that it did any good, because Weiss found out…but she forgave me for being White Fang. And I forgave her for being a Schnee. And we were such a great team and I loved those girls and I fucking _ran!"_ She reached down, snatched the glass, and would have thrown it in pure frustration, had her father's beefy hand not grabbed hers, and gently taken it out of her grasp. She turned and buried her face in her father's chest. "I ran, Daddy. I ran. God help me, that's all I've ever done. You should hate me. _I_ hate me!"

Ghira hugged his daughter. "Blake, your mother and I could _never_ hate you."

"Why didn't I listen to you?" she sniffed. "You warned me, and I didn't listen…"

"Blake, you were so young. You were in love, and not just with Adam Taurus." She looked up at him with reddened eyes. Her father rarely spoke Adam's name. "You were in love with the _idea_ of the White Fang. But even then, we never hated you. We were just afraid you would go down the wrong path."

"But I did, Dad—"

"And you pulled yourself out of it. You realized what you were doing was wrong, and you stopped yourself. And then you turned your life around…and look at you now."

Blake laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, look at me now. A wreck. A coward."

"Wrong. A Marine." He drew back from her, both hands enfolding her shoulders. "We might not have been able to communicate with you, but we followed you—on the telly, on this internet thing, and occasional phone calls from people I know in America. You fought the White Fang over Lake Michigan, at La Crosse, and at Beacon. You fought the GRIMM too. Battlefield promotion to captain, and a Navy Cross." Blake looked at him in shock. "Oh, we know about that. Captain Ozpin called us. We were over the moon about that. Kali and I almost flew out to Beacon to see you, but we were worried that the White Fang would follow us. Which was stupid, since they obviously already knew about you."

"I still ran away," Blake repeated.

"A good Marine knows there is a time to fall back from an indefensible position, Blake."

"I abandoned my friends, though!"

"Did you? Where are your friends now?"

Blake paused, then realized her father wasn't asking a rhetorical question. "Well…Ruby's gone somewhere on a secret mission or something…Weiss is in Germany, at her parents' place…Yang's at her dad's place, recovering."

"And is there a law that you can't leave and see them? Aside from Ruby, of course."

"I can't," Blake said. "Dad, Yang lost her arm because Adam came after _me._ She was trying to help me fight him. It's my fault."

"I should think it was Adam's fault." Ghira gently poked his daughter in the chest. "You didn't fire the shot that took Yang's arm off. Adam did."

"I know, but he wouldn't have been there if I wasn't!"

"Do you know that? I'm pretty certain the White Fang would've attacked Beacon even if Blake Belladonna wasn't there." He kissed her forehead. "Blake, you have to stop blaming yourself for Adam Taurus. He created himself. Sienna Khan helped, but ultimately it is _his_ fault, _his_ responsibility. He fought monsters until he became one. You recognized that and left. You can't save him. You never could." He leaned back in the couch, still keeping an arm around Blake. "You know I'm rather a fan of Winston Churchill."

"I hadn't noticed," Blake chuckled. There was a bust of Churchill on Ghira's desk, next to his picture of Kali and Blake. There was a painting of the legendary prime minister in his office.

"Remember what he said about victory and defeat?"

"'Victory is never final, and defeat is never fatal.'"

"'It is courage that counts,'" Ghira finished the quote. "You have courage, Blake. You wouldn't be a fighter pilot or a Marine if you didn't. You wouldn't be my daughter if you didn't. Rest here, recover, and then go back out there. Go to Germany. Go back to America. Find your friends, and fight. Your mother and I will be behind you all the way." Ghira raised his voice. "And why don't you come in and join us, Mr. Wukong, instead of eavesdropping?"

There was a commotion outside the door, then it suddenly fell inwards and crashed to the floor, bringing Sun Wukong with it. Blake sighed. "You really need to fix that door. It's never been right since that day you kicked it off its hinges. You were so angry that day."

Ghira got to his feet as Sun struggled to do the same. "I'm starting to feel about that way now." He towered over Sun.

Sun scratched the back of his head. "So sorry—thought this was the bathroom—didn't meant to interrupt a tender family moment-"

"Which was why you've been out there for the past three minutes? Do you think that I'm so old that I don't hear what happens in my house?"

"No, sir, I don't, it's just that I, uh…"

"I _really_ don't like you," Ghira grunted.

Blake sighed, grabbed the scotch and quickly knocked it back, then jumped up and dragged Sun onto the balcony before her father obliterated him. She shoved him into the corner furthest away from her father, for Sun's protection and her own. "You stupid ass!" she hissed. "What were you thinking?"

"I heard you crying! I was concerned!"

"So you _eavesdropped?_ "

"I didn't want to interrupt! I didn't know you dad had such good hearing!" He looked away from her. "Dammit, Blake…I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. It was dumb. You're right."

Blake rubbed her eyes. She wanted to be angry at Sun, but wasn't sure if she was displacing her anger at herself onto him. And he was just looking out for his friend. "You're not my bodyguard, Sun. I can take care of myself."

"It's not just that," Sun said, after a pause. "Your mom said something weird about the White Fang."

"Like what?"

"Sienna Khan. She's here in Glasgow. Walking around _openly!"_

Blake held up a finger. "Stop."

"But she—at Beacon—"

"I said stop, Sun. I'm not here to fight the White Fang. I'm not here to hear about the White Fang. I am here to rest and figure out just what the hell I'm doing with my life."

"I'm just trying to help, Blake," Sun protested.

"And I appreciate it, but please…stop." She tried a smile. "Okay?"

"Okay." Sun smiled back.

That left them staring at each other. Both suddenly realized they were close to the other, and Blake found herself staring into Sun's blue eyes, that handsome face. _God, he's attractive,_ she thought. From the look in his eyes, she knew he was thinking the same thing about her.

Then there was movement in the woods behind them. If Blake had not been looking at Sun, she would not have noticed it. In the light from the house, it was merely a shadow. Blake leaned closer, and Sun audibly swallowed. "Blake?" The figure shifted again. It was definitely human…or Faunus. "Blake?" Sun repeated. He wasn't sure if she was trying to kiss him or not. Her eyes were fixed at a point behind him, but she kept getting closer. He looked down, and wished he hadn't: Blake's breasts were getting uncomfortably close to his chest; two more inches and they would be touching. If her father came out right now-Sun had a vision of himself floating face down in the river.

Suddenly, Blake shoved him to one side, jumped atop the wooden balcony railing, and leapt into the woods. Sun spun around, and saw a shadow leap out of the tree to another, and then to another, heading for the front. Blake pursued, making each jump out of memory; she'd played in these trees since she was a child.

But so had someone else.

Sun almost pursued—after all, monkeys were the world's best tree-climbers—but had a better idea. Instead, he ran through the house, nearly bowling over Kali. "Excuse me!" he yelled. "Blake's after a, uh, ninja!" It was the only thing that came to mind.

Kali's eyebrows raised. "Ninjas? Well, that's a first."

* * *

Blake saw the shadow drop to the ground, just outside the Belladonna Lodge's low wall, short of the stairway. It was a long drop, but the figure rolled when they reached the ground, back to their feet. Blake took a breath and followed, remembering her parachute training. She hit the ground hard, prayed nothing had broken, and rolled as well.

The figure was staring at her through the white mask in the dim moonlight; here, there were no streetlights and the house lights were too far. By its curves, it was feminine, dressed in a black jumpsuit, but even its skin seemed black. Blake knew only one person who could pull off that trick.

But before she could speak, the shadow was suddenly tackled by a blur of white and blonde. Sun had covered the steps out of the house three at a time, saw his chance, and threw himself outwards in a spear that any pro wrestler would be proud to call their own.

Sun was a good deal bigger and stronger than the person, and he got hold of something that felt like arms, though they were squirming around so much that he wasn't sure if they had two or four of them. He finally got it pinned down by throwing himself on top of them, using his body weight, and then realized the mask had come off partially in the scuffle. A pale blue eye looked up at him; beneath it were freckles, a small nose, and full lips. Against his chest were the unmistakable swells of female breasts. Not as impressive as Blake's, but definitely female. "You're a girl?" he asked incredously.

The lips twisted into anger and she brought a knee squarely into his groin. Sun let out a noise between a choke and a squeak, collapsed, and rolled off, hands going to cradle himself as fiery tendrils of pain radiated out across his body. More pain rolled through him as the girl got out from under him and planted a boot in his shoulder on the way.

"Ilia, stop!" Blake shouted.

Ilia Amitola pulled her mask up over her forehead. There was no mistaking it was her. Blake had known her since they were children. They'd played in that forest, shared secrets, stolen a first kiss, cried together in Blake's room, joined the White Fang together. "Ilia," Blake said. "What are you doing here? Why were you spying on us?"

Ilia's skin flushed green, which Blake knew she did when she was sad. "You shouldn't have come back," she said. Then she turned and ran. Blake could have pursued, but knew it would do no good. Ilia had always been faster.

She turned to Sun, who was trying to sit up, still holding himself. "You okay?" she asked.

"No!" he gritted out, then followed it with a spate of angry Chinese curses. She knelt next to him, and on impulse, kissed his cheek. "My hero."

"Ha ha ha." He was sucking in his breath. "I think she busted one of my balls open. Son of a bitch!"

Blake patted his shoulder in sympathy, and he sucked in his breath at that, too. Then she saw something silver in the moonlight, and reached out.

It was a cell phone, a flip phone. Blake turned it over and, to her surprise, saw that it had a lens embedded in it, part of the phone. "Sun, is this yours?"

He painfully looked over his shoulder. "Nope!" He gingerly twisted around. "That's one of those new ones with a camera. I thought…ow…those were only in Japan?"

Blake turned it over. It wasn't cracked, and looked intact. _It must be Ilia's,_ she thought. _Sun must have knocked it out of her pocket when he tackled her. If it has a camera, then she was taking pictures. But why? Ilia knows my house better than her orphanage. And I still regard her as a friend; she knows she can talk to me. Why was she spying?_ "Sun, is there a way to get the pictures off of this?" she asked.

"How should I know? Neptune knows that shit, not me!"

Blake held the phone. "I wonder if Dad knows someone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While today people would be surprised at a phone that didn't have a camera, the first real camera phone came out in November 2000, and Ilia's would have come out in January 2001. Technology marches on...


	13. Mother, Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang finally gets her hands on the P-51, with Taiyang along for the ride. But there's some things father and daughter need to discuss...namely, a certain Raven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat shorter chapter than usual, because I got a late start on it and I didn't feel like writing the big fight coming for Reaper Flight just yet. So enjoy Yang and Taiyang having a father-daughter bonding moment.

_Over the Great Smoky Mountains_

_North Carolina, United States of Canada_

_7 June 2001_

"Wow…" Yang could not resist saying it. Beneath the silver, bare metal wings of the P-51 Mustang was the majesty of the Great Smoky Mountains spread out like a green blanket, with bits of grey stone showing through. From where she sat at 15,000 feet, she could distantly see the cities of Knoxville, Tennessee on her right, and back to Asheville on her left. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the Rolls-Royce Merlin engine hummed just in front of her. Her hand—her artificial one—felt good on the stick, her real one on the throttle. The bubble canopy of the old fighter gave excellent vision all around, just like her F-15. Yang grinned. She was home. The sky was more her home than any land-bound house.

Technically, it was not a P-51. It was a TF-51, the Korean War-era designation for a two-place, dual control training version of the Mustang. The old bulky World War II-era radios were taken out, the canopy lengthened, and a second seat and controls put in. Taiyang was a little uncomfortable back there, but he could fly the aircraft just as she could. His hands had been on the controls since they had taken off from Asheville, but he'd released them when they reached cruising altitude. They could go much higher, of course, but neither was wearing an oxygen mask, so this was as high as they could safely go.

Yang had made great strides in only a few days. Two days in the Cessna 172 and she had been doing aerobatics. She found she had to occasionally grip the stick in both hands, but that was all right. Tai had been impressed enough to convince Pops to let them take the Mustang up this afternoon. They'd originally planned on spending two weeks in the Cessna, but Yang was getting too far ahead of the slow aircraft. She'd been flying high performance fighters for so long that it was muscle memory, even when certain muscles were no longer present.

Tai had been quiet since they'd made radio checks and been cleared to a block of airspace over the mountains. Yang didn't blame him: it almost seemed sacreligious to talk over the Merlin's sonorous sound and interrupt the gorgeous view.

"Hard left turn," Tai suddenly barked.

Yang executed the maneuver, snapping the stick over, but she was a little slow to react. "You stupid ass!" Tai exploded. "You took a whole second to move the damn stick! A second is forever up here! Get your head out of your ass and wake the fuck up!" The control stick was wrenched out of Yang's hands and it snapped side to side, the buttons and the grip hitting her knees painfully before Tai allowed his daughter to have it back. The P-51 wallowed drunkenly.

Tai then began snapping out swift and contradictory commands. Yang did her best to complete them, and occasionally did so quick enough. Many more times, however, she was still too slow, and many more times the stick slammed into the soft flesh of her knees beneath her flight suit. Yang wanted to scream at her father to stop it, but gritted her teeth and took the pain, and felt great satisfaction at shutting Tai up when she did it right.

Tai, for his part, hated to do what he was doing. It was how he had been taught by his father to fly, the crusty, cigar-chomping former P-47 Thunderbolt pilot, and it was effective, if a harder school. He felt pride in Yang for not losing control of herself or the aircraft. She said nothing but "Yes, sir!" if she spoke at all in response to his orders, didn't talk back against his tirades, and channeled her anger into flying rather than lashing out at him—or worse, the aircraft. A P-51 would not take a pilot's wrath long before it would kick back like its namesake.

After Yang had gotten three commands in a row on time and well, Tai spoke in a normal voice: "I've got the aircraft." Yang relinquished the stick. Tai yanked the red nose into the air and put the Mustang deliberately into a stall. The engine missed a beat, the fighter shuddered, and then fell over on one wing into a spin. Then he let go of the stick. "She's yours," he told Yang.

_Oh shit!_ Yang thought. Sky and ground began swapping places, and the horizon spun crazily around them. She stole a glance at the altimeter— _okay, 12,000 feet, we've got plenty of air._ Then she realized some of the mountains around the Smokies poked up to 6000 feet. She applied rudder to stop the spin, and pushed the stick forward, almost into the instrument panel. The propeller bit into the air, the Merlin howled as she pushed up the throttle, and Yang jerked back the stick. The P-51 pulled out of the spin and climbed with still two thousand feet to spare. Yang found herself breathing hard, and her stomach did a sickening flip. She fought down the nausea, but found that it was only from the spin—it wasn't fear. Throughout the whole spin, she hadn't been afraid. _Okay, I was fairly concerned, but I wasn't scared._ She took her artificial hand off the stick for a moment, and saw that it was shaking. _Okay…maybe a little._

"I think that's good for the day, pumpkin," Tai said, now the happy father again. "I'll take her back. I want to get some stick time on this baby too."

"Just no aerobatics, Pops," Yang told him. "Unless you want to see my French toast again."

* * *

Tai was waiting for her out in front of the Happy Bottom Flying Club, leaning against Zippy, still wearing his flight suit. Yang came out with hers over one shoulder, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. It was June in North Carolina, and she had no idea why her father didn't melt in his flight suit, even at dusk. He looked down and saw the purple and brown bruises on her knees. "Yeah," Yang said. "It hurts, Dad; thanks for asking."

Tai felt like a jerk. "Sorry, Yang. Really. That was how my dad taught me. You screwed up, you got a stick to the knees." He got in the passenger side; it was late enough in the day that Yang felt safe driving in the Asheville traffic. "I won't do that anymore."

Yang shut the door. "Thanks." She gave a little start of pain as her keys hit one of her knees. "Though I know why you did it." She started the car and backed up. "I didn't do all that well today."

"You did all right, for your first time out. You did real well on that spin recovery." Tai had his hand on the stick throughout the stall and spin, in case Yang couldn't bring it out, and regretted it. It had been taking a big chance, that his daughter was capable of using her artificial arm effectively, and knew instinctively how to solve the problem. If he had been wrong, he and Yang might be a smoking hole in the side of a mountain. "You feel up to going out again tomorrow?"

"Hell yeah!" Yang grinned at her father, which never failed to cheer him up. "I think in a week or two we could get Pops or Lance up for a little bit of hassling!"

"Well, we'll see, kiddo." He didn't want to rush Yang. The doctors had told him privately that they didn't know if Yang would ever get back in the cockpit; she'd already surpassed that estimate. But even the liberal estimates pointed to three months, if not more. And that was just the physical retraining; there was still the mental retraining as well. Tai knew that Yang still had nightmares; he'd heard her shouting in the night. She was always awake by the time he reached her, her hands shaking and her bed covered in sweat. The mental scars worried him far more than the physical ones.

"Hey, Dad." Yang's voice shook him out of his thoughts. "I don't think I ever asked you. Did you watch my fights during Vytal Flag?"

_Yes,_ Tai wanted to say, _and they scared the bejesus out of me. And Ruby was just as terrifying._ "I did," he said instead.

"And? Let me guess." She pitched her voice low, imitating her father. "'You were sloppy, Yang.'"

"Sloppy?" Tai gave it some thought. "Not really. Reckless."

"How so?"

"When you fought that Tomcat and nearly hit the side of a mountain? More than once? I thought I was going to have a heart attack watching that."

"I like to win."

"Only an idiot likes to lose," Tai replied. "But Yang, you were trying too hard. You didn't leave a lot of room if you made a mistake. You crowded too much. It was only an exercise."

"But aren't exercises supposed to be realistic?"

"Not to the point of killing people, no." He pointed to her artificial arm. "And that recklessness and blind desire to win is what got you _that._ " Yang gave him a nasty look, but Tai stood his ground. "Don't sass me, pumpkin. I read the report. Arashikaze sent it to me. According to Blake—" Yang really gave him a sour look at the mention of her former wingperson "—she had this Adam character dead to rights when you decided to jump him for a head-to-head gun pass. In fact, you came so close to the other guy that you almost rammed him, _and_ Blake." He shook his head. "We've already got Ruby the Mad Rammer in this family, Yang. Let's not make it a family trait."

Yang didn't answer. She realized she'd stepped on the accelerator in rage, and slowed down; she'd nearly missed their exit. It wasn't so much her father's criticism—he was right; she had no business making that gun pass on Adam Taurus. It wasn't even the mention of the man who had taken her arm and nearly her life. It was the mention of Blake Belladonna, and that opened up a box that she had no intention of opening for a long while. _Fucking bitch just left me—left us, all of Ruby Flight. Just ran._

"Yang, if you don't slow down, I'm going to make you pull over and switch places."

Yang forced herself to relax, and shoved Blake back in her box, stomping on her kitty ears to make her fit. "Sorry, Dad. Just something I don't want to talk about right now. Blake, I mean. Okay?"

"Okay." He watched her as they drove. There was the same burning intensity in the eyes, the same angry grip on the steering wheel and tendency towards speeding, even the same way the muscles in Yang's jaw bunched in anger. It was Raven to the life. When Raven had left, probably the only people who were thankful were the residents and local sheriffs of western North Carolina. A good portion of Raven's salary had gone to speeding tickets when she was angry—and she was angry a lot. "You're so much like her," Tai said wistfully, without realizing it.

"Who?"

Tai sighed. "Your mother. Raven."

"Summer was my mom, Dad."

"Okay, okay." He didn't feel like an argument. He'd already gotten his daughter angry, and this wasn't the time for it.

There was silence for about five minutes, but as Yang pulled onto the highway that led to Patch, she suddenly spoke. "How am I like her?"

"Raven?"

"Yeah. Now that it's okay to talk about her, apparently."

"I've been informed that you're a grown woman, so I assume you can handle it." Tai might not want an argument, but Yang could only push him so far.

Yang still bristled. She didn't feel like backing down from her father. First Blake, now Raven. "I'm sorry I remind you of her."

"Don't be." Yang looked at him when Tai said it; his tone was no longer one of the stern father, but of the husband who missed the wife that could have been. "Raven was great in so many ways, Yang. Her strength, her ambition, her dedication to whatever cause she thought was right. And she was a damn good pilot…and for awhile, a damn good wife." Tai stared out of the window. "I loved Raven, Yang. The day I proposed to her was, at the time, the greatest day of my life. I've only seen her cry twice. That was the first time." He turned and reached out, lightly brushing the blonde hair, just as unkempt and wild as Raven's had been, if gold instead of coal black. "We made a beautiful baby together. I'm proud of how much of her I see in you. But I'm also really glad that I don't see _all_ of her in you."

Yang smirked. "Yeah, I can agree with that. But why not?"

"Your mother—Raven—was a complicated woman. Like everyone, she had her faults. She was stubborn, vindictive, too damn easy to piss off, and reckless. And immature. Those faults tore Strike Flight apart…not to mention our family." He sighed again. "Both of you act like the only way to tackle an obstacle is to go right through it. Summer said that Raven would put her head through a cement block if there was something she wanted on the other side. Raven's never learned otherwise. I hope that you, now… _have_ learned."

Yang looked at her steel arm. "Yeah, well…it's going to be hard to forget." She then glanced at her father. "Why did she leave us, Dad?" She regretted saying it. It occurred to Yang that, just as Blake needed to stay in her box for now, Tai might not want to let Raven out of hers.

However, Tai had long since come to terms with it; the wound still hurt, but it was old. Still, it took him a few minutes to respond. "Like I said, Raven always was singleminded about a cause she believed was right. For awhile, it was this country. Then she got disgusted with it. She complained a lot—another trait of hers that I'm glad you didn't inherit. Raven felt like Strike Flight was being used, that Ozpin just figured we were expendable. She was wrong, but it did feel like shoveling sand against the tide sometimes, because we didn't seem to make much of a dent on the GRIMM. Raven felt like we weren't doing any good. We weren't winning...and like you, Raven liked to win.

"She used to talk a lot about quitting the service and going back to her home—that's the Branwen 'tribe' out in California. She felt like clearing out a spot far away from the American government and making it our own was a lot better than fighting the 'endless hordes' of GRIMM." He chuckled. "Yeah, she used that term—endless hordes. For awhile, those were Raven's favorite two words."

"So why didn't you?" Yang asked.

"Well, Summer thought it was crazy—everyone knew California was long gone, just radiation and ruins. That was a lie, of course, at least somewhat. Qrow didn't want to go back; he hated the place, said he liked eating regularly. I wasn't crazy about it either." Tai smiled. "It sounds rah-rah, I know, but I love this country. My family's served it since your great-great-grandfather stepped off the boat from China to help build the Transcontinental Railroad. He loved this country even when the whites called him nasty names and treated him like shit. But the Xiao Longs stayed. And we're still here. I wasn't just going to up and resign my commission because Raven had a chip on her shoulder."

Yang took the turn to drive towards their house. "So were you guys going to get a divorce?"

Tai thought about _that_ for a moment, as well. Certainly he and Raven had some horrific arguments, that drove him out of the house to go drinking with Qrow, more than once. They'd always patched it up. Raven would apologize, and they'd usually end up having makeup sex, which almost made the argument worth it. But what caused the argument always simmered under the surface, unsolved and ready to explode. "I don't know, Yang," Tai finally answered. "I don't think so. We still loved each other. And when she got pregnant with you, well, that was the second time I saw her cry. She was so happy, Yang, even though we really didn't plan for you. Ruby—Summer and I planned her. In fact, Summer used to do exercises that would help her conceive."

"I was an accident?" Yang wasn't sure if she liked that. Plus Ruby would never let her live it down.

"Nah, but we hadn't really talked seriously about kids. You _were_ a hard pregnancy for Raven, and Raven didn't like being tied down with a big belly. She had to be given a direct order not to fly when she was four months along. I think…" Tai took a deep breath. "I think she started hating you, Yang. You were preventing her from doing what she wanted. And Raven realized that, once you were born, it would be years before she could ever really go back to California. It's no place for a newborn, or even a toddler. So after she made sure that you were healthy, she left."

"Huh." Yang pulled into the driveway. "You forgot one more of her flaws, Dad."

"Which one?"

"Selfish." Yang put Zippy into park, a little harder than she'd meant to. Gears crunched alarmingly. Yang winced. "Sorry."

Tai worked the automatic shift for a moment to make sure it wasn't broken. "Yeah. She was very fucking selfish when she left." He leaned back in the seat, drained. It had been a conversation he'd meant to have with Yang for years, and was glad now they'd had it. "I don't know, Yang. Maybe Raven realized she wouldn't be a good mother. Maybe she even thought she was doing us a favor by leaving."

"She does think that. She told me. She said she knew Summer was waiting, and that Summer would take care of me. And you." Yang shook her head, hating Raven…and yet, understanding her in some weird way. "And Summer Rose was a real mom."

Tai laughed softly. "She sure as hell was. God, Summer loved you. She used to just sit there and rock you to sleep, right under that old oak tree over there. Even when she was pregnant with Ruby." Tai felt the tears coming. Yang leaned over and hugged her father. He wiped his eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they were persistent.

"Dad, can I ask you a really personal question?"

"Sure, pumpkin."

"Was she good in the sack?"

Tai broke loose of the hug and stared at his daughter in shock. "What? Who? _Who_ was good in the sack?"

"Mom. Raven. Both."

"Why the hell do you want to know that?"

Yang's eyes were alight again, but this time with mirth. "Because I'm _great_ in the sack, and I want to know which side I inherited it from."

Tai's mouth dropped, but then he started laughing, which had been Yang's intention. "You…oh, you little _shit._ "

"Hey. Ruby's the little shit. I'm the _big_ shit."

"Keep asking about your parents' sex life and you'll be in _deep_ shit." They got out of the car into the soft Carolina night. "Want to know which side…well, it doesn't matter, because you're never having sex, Yang."

"Shows what you know. You gonna put me in a convent?"

"Or the Air Force, same thing."

Yang laughed and put her real arm around her father. He was still laughing as they walked to their house, together.


	14. Hot Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ren and Nora fly towards Japan to get Qrow medical help, they sight the tracks of the Nuckelavee. Which is strange, because it's supposed to be destroyed.
> 
> And it's headed straight for Ruby and Pyrrha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice long chapter this time. Finally getting to the Nuckelavee fight, which I put off as long as I could-I wasn't sure how I was going to write it. But I think it turned out all right. 
> 
> I did lift a line from Firefly, but I doubt anyone will mind...

_Kuroyuri Airfield (Zonalnoye)_

_Sakhalin, Eastern Russia Dead Zone_

_7 June 2001_

Qrow Branwen woke with a start. His head felt like one of the worst hangovers he'd ever had. His vision swam for a moment, and then focused blearily on the woman bending over him. "Hey there, Short Stack. Long time…" Then he realized it was not Summer Rose, but her daughter. "Oh, hey, Ruby…"

Ruby dabbed at his brow with a hankerchief. "Hey there, Uncle Qrow. How're you feeling?"

"Horrible. My head feels like someone set off a nuke in it, and my stomach feels like I've been shot."

"It's because you _have_ been shot, kinda." She ran a hand over his abdomen. Qrow sucked in his breath. "Does that hurt?"

"Hell yes!" he gasped.

"Ren patched you up, best he could, but thinks you've got internal bleeding."

"Great." Qrow lay back on the stretcher. "Aspirin?"

"Yeah, hold on." Ruby fished around in her survival vest and found the tiny packet of aspirin, then grabbed her last baby bottle of water. Before leaving Alaska, each pilot had filled two baby bottles with ice, knowing their body heat would melt it to water. Gently, she lifted her uncle's head, gave him the pills, then the water. She wondered if she was doing the right thing by giving him water. _Knew I should've paid more attention in first aid class when I was a Girl Scout…_

Qrow gratefully gulped down the water and laid back. He winced when the water hit his shrunken stomach, but gritted his way through it. "Hey, Ruby," he said. He grabbed her hand. "You guys call for help?"

"Ren and Nora left ten minutes ago. It shouldn't be too much longer."

"Listen, in case I don't make it—"

Ruby waved that off. "Don't say that!"

Qrow ignored her. "If I don't make it…you need to ask Pyrrha about the Maidens, okay?" His grip tightened. "Oz told us not to tell anyone, and so did that little pipsqueak Arashikaze, but you need to know. All of you." He nodded at her. "You're a good kid, Ruby." He groaned as a bolt of pain went through him. "Love ya...kiddo...you know...just in..." His voice trailed off as he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Ruby held his hand, then checked his pulse. It was faster than normal, but still strong. She got up, watched him for a minute, then walked to where Pyrrha stood at the front of the hangar. Ruby didn't know why these Maidens were so important to Qrow, but if he thought it was important enough for a deathbed confession— _no,_ Ruby thought, _don't think like that. Uncle Qrow is too mean to die._

"Pyrrha?" Ruby asked. Pyrrha seemed not to notice her; instead her head was cocked to one side, like she was trying to listen to something, her baby bottle of water unnoticed in her hands. "Pyrrha?"

"Shh." The other woman held up her hand. Ruby listened, but could hear nothing. Then Pyrrha carefully set down her bottle onto the cracked concrete of the tarmac and began watching it. Ruby stared at her for a moment, wondering if Pyrrha had lost her mind, then noticed the ripples in the water. "I think, maybe…it's coming from the south."

Ruby walked out a little further and looked in that direction. It was dark, but there was a full moon rising.

Far in the distance, a flock of birds rose startled in the air.

And then they heard it: a distant thump, almost like artillery or a train coming to a stop. Then another thump, and another. It was rhythmic. Pyrrha joined her. "Something big is moving," she said.

"Yeah. Like someone walking?" Ruby shrugged and pointed. "It's south, all right. Still a ways off."

* * *

_Over Aniva Bay, Southwest of Kuroyuri_

_Sakhalin, Eastern Russia Dead Zone_

Ren tried to settle into the ejection seat and concentrate on flying. It was not easy. He felt like he was abandoning his friends back at Kuroyuri. He reassured himself that it should be all right: Qrow was a tough man, and the town of Kuroyuri was uninhabited, a city of the dead. He'd made sure of that, flying over it on the way out to see if there was any hint of squatters, anyone, living there. There wasn't. He knew Nora had checked too. He'd throttled back, trying to find his old house, but the ruins were overgrown and blasted. It was just as well.

He looked for her. Nora was below and to the right. It had taken longer than they'd hoped to fuel Nora's A-10 by hand, but at least they were in the air. They should be getting close to the edge of the radio dead zone; once clear of that, they could start radioing Chitose and get a medevac into the air. And a tanker, though that would take longer. If it wasn't for the fact that the water below held such horrible memories, and the urgency of their mission, Ren would've been enjoying the flight. The moon was bright, casting enough light to still see the shoreline of Sakhalin just below his right wing and even the forest beyond it. _A moonlight flight with my girl,_ he chuckled to himself. _How romantic._

He pressed the radio button. "Nora, Ren. Radio check."

"Roger, Ren. Five by."

"We never get the easy jobs, do we?" It was breaking radio silence rules, but suddenly Ren didn't care. He needed to talk, to keep the memories at bay.

"Easy's no fun anyway," Nora answered with a laugh. "You okay?"

"I'm tactical. You?"

"I got you here, don't I?"

Then he saw it. It was out of the corner of one eye, a strange indentation in the shoreline; the moonlight had caught it just right. He checked his fuel: there was enough for a quick circle. It was probably nothing, but it raised his hackles all the same. Of course, coming back here was making him jump at shadows for certain.

He waggled his wings for Nora's attention, then began a gentle turn to the right. A quick glance saw Nora's A-10 turning to follow; luckily the gray A-10 was fairly easy to see against the dark water, and she'd switched on her lights. If there were Grimm around, they would detect them anyway. Ren made a quick scan of his instruments, one look around the sky, and then looked down.

It was a footprint, a large one, about eight feet across, but not remotely human. Instead, it looked like a cloven hoof, but with hard edges instead of the smooth ones of nature. Ren felt the bile in his throat. There was another footprint in the forest, and a path of broken trees heading north. He flew on a moment longer. And another footprint. More broken trees.

"Nora, twelve o'clock low!"

Nora had already seen them, and her reaction was one of utter terror—suddenly the terrified little girl watching Kuroyuri burn around her, as a steel monster searched for prey like some horrifying kaiju come to life. For a moment she couldn't speak. Shaking, she touched the radio button. "Tally-ho, Ren." She shook her head, as if that could make the sight in front of her go away. "I see them."

"It's headed north, towards…" Ren's voice trailed off. He didn't need to finish. Ren felt his hands grip stick and throttle hard enough that under his gloves, his knuckles turned white. "We have to go back."

"But Chitose—"

"We're going back!"

"Ren, no!" Nora yelled. " _I'm_ going back. You get up as high as you can and start broadcasting! As soon as Chitose acknowledges, _then_ you follow me!"

"Nora, they're going to die!"

"Qrow's going to die if we don't get that medevac! Now shut the fuck up and clear the channel!" Ren saw the A-10 peel away and head north as fast as it could. He slammed a hand on the side of the cockpit, let out a string of vile Chinese curses, and climbed into the night sky, heading south. "Reaper Three, transmitting in the blind to any station. Request immediate assistance. I have wounded personnel and am engaged with ground GRIMM." He reached forward and switched on his transponder, turning it to 7700. If the radar controllers on Hokkaido could pick him up, his radar blip would be bright and huge, letting the entire world know he was an aircraft in distress. Ren repeated his message.

There was no answer.

* * *

_Kuroyuri Airfield_

Now the ground was beginning to shake. "What the hell is it?" Ruby yelled, as she and Pyrrha began to back into the hangar. "They have elephants on this—" Her eyes widened. "Oh fuck! Goliaths!"

"It can't be!" Pyrrha exclaimed. "It doesn't sound like a large number! Just one!"

"Ruby!" They turned at Qrow's voice. He was trying to sit up on the stretcher. "Get in the air! Don't get caught on the ground!"

"Like hell—"

"Goddammit, Ruby! Leave me! Just go!" Qrow gripped his middle in agony. "Go!" Ruby stood rooted to the spot, shaking her head helplessly, so Qrow turned pained eyes on Pyrrha. "Take my bird and get the hell out of here, Nikos! Slap some sense into her!" He pointed at his niece.

Pyrrha grabbed Ruby. "He's right! We can't get caught on the ground!" She shook her friend. "A Goliath isn't going to bother with a single person!" That was a lie: if GRIMM had infrared "sight," like it was thought that they did, a Goliath would see Qrow, and probably blast the hangar to pieces. But Pyrrha, who felt nauseated at the thought of leaving anyone behind, knew they would all die if she and Ruby didn't get into the air.

Ruby blinked and nodded. Pyrrha gave her another quick shake to be sure, then dashed towards Qrow's F-117, snatching up her helmet off the wing of the F-22 on the way. She spared a quick pat on the Raptor's wing as she went past; she'd known _Crocea Mors II_ for such a short time, but it was unflyable. As damaged as the Nighthawk was, it was at least in theory flightworthy.

Ruby started towards Qrow, but Qrow grabbed his pistol from his survival vest beside the stretcher, and pointed it at her. Ruby swore, turned around, and ran towards _Crescent Rose_ , tossing her helmet into the cockpit, chinning herself on the canopy sill and pulling herself in. There was no time to run through a preflight; she simply switched on the engine, let the gyros stabilize for a moment, then began to taxi. Pyrrha had the canopy down on the F-117 and was already moving as well. Neither aircraft was at its best, but they got both onto the runway. Pyrrha let Ruby have the lead, so Ruby hit the afterburner and took off. She looked at the fuel gauge and wished she hadn't. She would be lucky if she had ten minutes in the air.

Ruby had to make a longer turn than usual after takeoff due to the damaged rudder, but as she did so, she looked to the left. She stared in shock and resisted the sudden urge to urinate.

There was no question it was a GRIMM. Normally the drones were painted a black color with white and red recognition stripes; no one was quite sure if the black was paint or the natural color of composites. This one only had patches of paint: the rest of it was a dull, bare and battered metal silver, like an old saucepan. It was the GRIMM's appearance that was so horrifying: it was four-legged, like a Goliath, but the legs rose in the air and then curved down to its feet, like a spider. In the middle was a squat body, like a carapace, topped with a blocky turret adorned with two secondary turrets and two forward cannon. It was easily twice the size of a Goliath. As Ruby looked closer, she could see it was deeply scored and blackened in places with hits and scars. Then the turret swung in her direction. "What the fuck _is_ that?" Ruby shouted over the open channel.

* * *

Pyrrha coaxed the Nighthawk in the air, but wasn't sure how long she was going to stay there. Through her helmet, she could hear the wind whistling through holes in the fuselage, and she doubted the ejection seat would work; there were holes through that, as well. One engine was out, and though the other one worked fine, it was creating an asymmetrical thrust issue that required her to keep one foot hard down on the rudder pedals. She'd heard the F-117 wasn't easy to fly to begin with, though at least the cockpit was familiar enough: it had been based on the A-7 Corsair II, and she'd flown Greek versions of the A-7 a few times. The gun was nearly empty, but she had three Sidewinders left. Still, it was all she could do to keep the Nighthawk in the air, and she wasn't going to be able to fight well, if at all.

Then she spotted the GRIMM as well. She turned towards it, fighting the dead engine. The HUD was intact, but didn't have an air-to-ground mode; Pyrrha still opened the internal weapons bay. To her surprise, the Sidewinders began to growl: the GRIMM was giving off enough heat to guide. She didn't have time to question: Pyrrha fired one, to see if it _would_ guide. The missile hit the GRIMM in the front of the carapace. The machine seemed to rear back, as if in pain, and the turret turned away from Ruby to lock onto Pyrrha. The Nighthawk's Radar Warning Receiver shrilled for her attention as it locked on.

Pyrrha pulled the stick into a break as hard as she dared, but the F-117 wallowed and nearly stalled. She knew with certainty that she would never break the lock, and while she didn't see any missile launchers on the GRIMM, the quartet of guns on the turret would be more than adequate to do the job. She sighed. There were no options left, and Pyrrha pushed the throttle forward, redlining the remaining engine. "Sorry, Qrow," she said, and smiled. "I love you, Jaune."

She aimed the F-117 directly at the GRIMM.

* * *

Ruby curved around, trying to get the turn tighter so that she could engage the GRIMM. The AMRAAM could guide on a ground target, but her Sidewinders might work best, and she still had the gun—though Ruby wasn't sure if the gun would even irritate something that size. Then she saw Pyrrha charging at the GRIMM. "Pyrrha, _no!"_

"Pyr, break off! Nora's in south to north!"

The A-10 roared in , skimming the tops of the airfield's hangars, and the nose of the Warthog disappeared as Nora opened fire. The heavy, depleted uranium slugs tore into the side of the GRIMM, which now shifted towards the new threat. Pyrrha hesitated for half a second, between life and death, then made her choice. She climbed: it would have been just as suicidal had the GRIMM not been distracted. Nora flew past, close enough that Pyrrha knew a collision had been more luck than design.

Ruby kept her turn, and dropped flares, hoping the GRIMM would spot those. "Nora, sure glad to see you!" she yelled.

"Ruby, Nora! We spotted the tracks of the Nuckelavee! Ren's calling for help, but I came back!"

"That's what it's called?" Ruby asked, but there was no time for Nora to go into detail. "How do we kill it?"

"Yeah, good question!" Nora called back, circling, looking for an opening. "This is the same one that destroyed Kuroyuri!"

_No way,_ Ruby thought. _That thing would have to be nearly twenty years old…but wait, it's all scarred up. Maybe it's just been hanging out on Sakhalin, powered down? Waiting for someone to show up for all this time? What the hell_ powers _these damn things?_

_Maybe it killed_ my _mother too._ The thought came unbidden to Ruby. She wondered if somewhere around here, there was another, crashed F-16, and the bones of Summer Rose.

* * *

Pyrrha dipped the wing of the F-117, shoving her thoughts of Jaune into the back of her mind. She had been less than twenty seconds from dying, but once more she'd been brought back from the brink. "Reaper Flight, Pyrrha," she radioed. "It's old and already damaged. I don't think it's radar is working well, if at all. If we attack it from the cardinal points of the compass, it won't know which side to engage."

"Roger that," Ruby replied. "Nora, come in from the east; I'll come in from the west."

"Ren here. I'll take it from the south."

"Ren? Ruby here, what about—"

"Chitose is sending help, ETA three zero minutes. Ren is in south to north." The J-10 came in from the bay, Ren dropping to treetop height. Both Ruby and Nora dropped flares, again as a distraction.

The Nuckelavee had three targets, and while its computer was old and not functioning at high capacity, it still retained enough processing power to realize which of the three targets was the biggest threat. It shifted around with surprising speed and opened fire with all four of its turrets, sending twenty and forty millimeter shells towards Ren. Ruby expected Ren to break off, to give her and Nora a shot at it.

He kept boring in. Both AMRAAMs fell from the wing and spiraled in towards the Nuckelavee; one hit, one flew past to bisect the old ruin of the control tower, which fell onto one of the hangars. Ruby quickly checked, but luckily the GRIMM was on the opposite side of the field from where Qrow was, though that could change quickly. And Ren was still coming on. "Ren, break off!" she screamed. _God, first Pyrrha and now Ren! Why is my flight suicidal?_ "Break off, that's an order!"

* * *

Ren was actually not suicidal; far from it. He was, however, enraged. He had heard Nora's conversation with Ruby, and saw the old damage on the GRIMM. There was no question who this was: Ren realized the Nuckelavee was no longer an it, but a he, a living creature that had murdered his parents and his town. And now _he_ had to die. Ren saw red, a red tunnel that led to the Nuckelavee, and nothing else, and he was going to kill the bastard before the GRIMM could kill anyone else he loved. He felt something hit the J-10, and didn't care.

" _REN!"_

Nora's voice, and the explosions that staggered the Nuckelavee, shook him out of his rage. He pulled the stick back into his gut and climbed hard, as Nora shot past in front and below him; she had salvoed all four of her Sidewinders into the Nuckelavee. It had done the GRIMM real damage, but now the turret turned to follow. The A-10 shuddered from hits across the aircraft, and white vapor began to stream from one wing.

* * *

"Nora, Ruby, onboard check!"

"I'm okay—armor held—both engines are good—ah, shit," Nora said. "Losing fuel. Not too bad—I think I got about ten minutes."

Ruby completed a second circle around the field; apparently, she was just outside what the Nuckelavee thought was a threat. She saw Ren outlined against the moon just for a moment, and saw that he was getting ready for another pass. "Ren, Ruby, hold your ass!" she yelled. "Reaper Flight, quit trying to kill yourselves! Let's unfuck this cluster, shall we?" She smiled despite herself; it sounded like something Uncle Qrow would say. "Reaper, check in."

"Two." Pyrrha was still orbiting in the F-117, invisible in the darkness.

"Three." Ren was off to Ruby's right now.

"Four." Nora was coming around to the left.

"Reapers, here's the drill." Ruby tried to sound more confident than she felt. "Ren, you and I will go for its legs, try to cut them out from under it. Nora, you take care of the turret. Pyr, you finish it off with Sidewinders. Sound like a plan?"

"Roger that," Pyrrha replied.

"Roger," Ren said tightly. Ruby wondered if he was angry about not being the one assigned to kill the GRIMM, but that was for later—if there was one.

"We can do this!" Nora said, ebuillent as ever. Ruby wasn't sure if she ever wanted to hear Nora get scared.

"Roger, Reapers. Okay—I'm going in as bait. Ren, stand by." Ruby engaged the afterburner, almost wanting to cry at what the fuel gauge read, and flew across the airfield, nearly at supersonic speed. She fired her last AMRAAM at the Nuckelavee and missed, but she certainly got its attention. She watched in a moment of idle wonder as the shells from its cannons seemed to come straight at her, then curve behind in red and green tracers. _Every fifth shell,_ her brain informed her, remembering something her dad had once said, _it's the other four you can't see._ "Ren, hit him!"

Ren dived on the Nuckelavee and fired two Sidewinders. One failed to guide, but the other hit. The turrets that had been trying to guide on Ruby now turned towards him. "Now, Nora!" He jinked as hard as he could, waiting for the shell that would end his life.

Nora had deduced that the safest place to attack the GRIMM was from directly above. She climbed as fast as the Warthog would allow, then looped over the top and dived. Just as she had against the Death Stalker so many weeks ago, Nora pulled the trigger and held it. The titanic blast from the Avenger gatling cannon threw her forward into her straps; the gun turned twenty revolutions and stopped as it hit the end of the ammunition belt. The damage was done, as the shells lanced into the top of the turret. Nora expected an explosion, but there was none, though flame burst from the holes she had made.

Now she fought against the ground, hauling back on the stick with both hands. The A-10's airframe shuddered and she thought she heard something audibly snap. The ground rushed up at her, and blackness appeared at the edges of her vision; she thought she could hear Ren screaming her name as she had his, but finally the nose came up. She felt _Magnhild_ shudder like a car going over a bumpy road, but then the shudders stopped and she clawed her way back into the sky.

Ruby held her breath as she saw Nora almost disappear into the trees, but once the A-10 was clear, she turned her attention back to the Nuckelavee. It was still standing. "Pyr—"

"On it." Pyrrha had been in a slow descent, the best she could do without stalling. It was a flat trajectory that she approached the GRIMM on, which normally would be asking to be shot down, but the Nuckelavee was staggering like it was drunk, smoke and flames rising from the holed turret. She dropped and fired the last two Sidewinders, then pulled away. Both hit, but when the smoke cleared, the Nuckelavee was still standing, the turret swiveling to follow Pyrrha, a ridiculously easy shot.

None came.

Ren saw the turret pointing almost helplessly at its latest tormentor, and knew either the Nuckelavee's targeting system was destroyed or it had finally run out of ammunition. Ruby was once more in a wide circle, Nora was still trying to gain altitude, and Pyrrha was beginning her own slow turnaround. It was up to him, which seemed almost poetic.

Ren came in at cruising speed, ready to break away as the turret slewed towards him. Nothing happened. _For my mother. For my father. For all those you've killed. For me, you son of a bitch._ He held down the trigger as well. The J-10's heavy cannon sliced through the Nuckelavee. All of them expected a huge explosion, but instead the GRIMM simply seemed to sag, then fell over onto its side with a huge billow of dust and dirt. Once again, they waited for the explosion: no GRIMM had ever not self-destructed if it wasn't blown apart.

Nothing happened.

* * *

Ruby leaned against _Crescent Rose's_ landing gear, exhausted. The moon was high now, shining down on the two C-130s of the Japanese Air Self Defense Force, parked on Kuroyuri's overgrown tarmac. A third C-130 climbed away into the night, turboprops shaking the ground, carrying Qrow Branwen to the hospital at Chitose. She'd seen him aboard as the medics put in an IV and sliced off his flight suit. He'd been conscious, and waved his flask at her as they loaded him into the C-130. She'd wanted to go with him, but someone was going to have to fly _Crescent Rose_ to Japan. The other transports carried fuel bladders, and once they were done refueling Ren's J-10 and Nora's A-10, they'd fuel up the F-16. Of course, they had to fix the A-10 first: a hole the size of a human head had been punched through the left wing. Ren's J-10 had taken superficial damage. Japanese technicians swarmed over both aircraft, doing temporary repairs as the fueling crew connected hoses to the bladders.

She turned to see Ren and Nora, huddled close next to the hangar, sharing a blanket and two warm cups of tea. When they'd landed, the first thing she had done once both of them were out of the cockpit was to slap Ren, hard enough that it echoed across the airfield. The second thing she'd done was to draw him down into a kiss. Neither spoke now; they seemed just content to have each other's company.

Pyrrha walked across the runway towards Ruby, carrying a thermos and two blankets. She looked like Ruby felt, and sat down next to her. There would be no flying Qrow's F-117 back to Chitose: Pyrrha had barely been able to land it. The next morning, a USAF C-5 was due to land at Kuroyuri, and both the Nighthawk and Pyrrha's F-22 would be loaded inside for the trip back to Yokota, the nearest American base.

She dropped down next to Ruby. "The commander of the task force wants you to come talk to him again. He's very excited to have captured a somewhat intact GRIMM." She opened the top of the thermos, pulled off the cup, and poured Ruby coffee. Apparently not everyone in the JASDF liked tea. "I told him you needed some coffee in you first or you would collapse."

Ruby smiled. She'd met the Japanese task force commander when the C-130s had landed. For someone who had believed that all Japanese were about her not-considerable height, Colonel Hajime Nakamura was almost seven feet tall and spoke English with a Texas accent. "Thanks, Pyrrha." She took a drink. "I'm supposed to yell at you."

"Oh?" Pyrrha drank straight from the thermos.

"Yeah. Nora yelled at Ren for almost kamikazing the Nuckelavee. You were going to do it too."

Pyrrha looked into the thermos. "I couldn't pull up without running right into its guns. I was going to die either way."

"Do you _want_ to die, Pyrrha?"

Pyrrha said nothing. _Do I?_ she asked herself. Every day she ached for Jaune, which she knew had deepened to an obsession. But then she remembered what she and the rest of what had been Juniper Flight had discussed on the roof of the hospital. Jaune would never forgive her if she threw her life away. "No, Ruby. I don't," she said truthfully. "I just didn't see any other option."

"Yeah, well, don't do it again." She lightly punched Pyrrha's shoulder. "I'll kick your ass."

Pyrrha let out an uncharacteristic giggle, which sounded strange coming from her. "Are you going to kiss me next?"

Ruby laughed. It felt good to laugh. "Don't tempt me. Watching Ren and Nora get all lovey-dovey makes me realized I haven't had anything between my legs that wasn't powered by batteries."

Pyrrha made a face. "I really never needed to hear that, Ruby."

Ruby slowly got to her feet, careful to not bang her head onto the nose of the F-16 or spill her coffee. "Yeah, well…I'm tired. No telling what comes out of this mouth after I haven't slept in 24 hours." She picked up the thermos and topped off her cup. "Guess I'll go see what Colonel Nakamura wants." Ruby mussed Pyrrha's already frazzled hair and began trudging across the runway.

Two-thirds of the way across, her foot nudged a notebook. She bent and picked it up; the last thing anyone needed was to FOD an engine—foreign object damage like a notebook would tear apart an engine. Reaper Flight was damaged enough. Curious, she opened it up, and saw that it was the tower log. _Oh, how about that,_ Ruby thought, and looked up. The collapsed tower was in a direct line of sight to where she was; it had probably been blown free when the tower fell over. She drained the coffee in one gulp and stuffed the cup into a flight suit pocket, then began leafing through the log as she walked towards the C-130s, reading by moonlight. Most of the notations were from 20 years ago, and boring. There were some hasty scrawls from when Kuroyuri was evacuated, then nothing. She yawned and turned the page—and almost dropped the log.

_Airfield deserted. Heavy damage to village, but hangars and fueling system intact. Contacted JASDF on 150.6. Will proceed to next objective. Awfully quiet here; sure did sleep good. Happy birthday to my little Ruby. Miss you, Yang, and Tai._

_-Maj. S. Rose, USAF 1030Z 10/31/84_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A C-5 can carry both a F-117 and a F-22, though the wings would have to be removed. Looks like Qrow and Pyrrha aren't going anywhere for awhile.
> 
> Longtime RWBY fans (especially RWBY Chibi ones) will recognize where I got the Japanese commander's name from.


	15. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinder gets into her first battle since Beacon, and has to fly hard to survive. Tyrian's back, and Salem's not happy. 
> 
> Meanwhile, back in the US, Yang gets a surprise visit from Rissa Arashikaze. She's got a gift, and an offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the big Nuckalevee fight, this chapter is a bit of a cooling off. For those of you who are airplane nuts, Cinder is flying a very old MiG-21PF model, with the forward hinging (pilot killing) canopy, terrible forward vision, and only two missiles instead of four. In this world, the Soviets never got to produce the more advanced, considerably deadly R-60 "Aphid" heat-seeking missile, so Salem's MiGs are equipped with Sidewinders-the K-13 "Atoll" was rear-aspect only. Poor Cinder's got enough problems without having to use those.

_Near Mount Yamantau_

_Ural Mountains, Russian Dead Zone_

_8 June 2001_

Cinder Fall took off from the camouflaged runway near Mount Yamantau, and immediately firewalled the throttles of the MiG-21. As an interceptor, it had a superb climb rate, and she used it gain altitude. Once at twenty thousand feet, she leveled off, pulled off the power, and immediately began scanning the sky around her. "Dammit," she said into the oxygen mask. The MiG-21 had remarkably poor visibility: her front windscreen was obscured by the large radar scope, and there was no vision to the rear aside from the mirrors set into the canopy bow. She'd been missing her F-22 since she regained consciousness, but this was worse. If she didn't figure out how to overcome the old fighter's limitations, she would be dead. The MiG-21 was designed to be guided to its targets by ground control, but Cinder did not have that luxury: she'd have to rely on her wits, flying ability, and the radar. At least that had been upgraded: she picked up two targets approaching from head on. _Two Beowolves from their flight pattern,_ she thought. _All right. Let's see what I can do with this old piece of shit._

Cinder saw that the Beowolves were in combat spread, so she turned to the right. The MiG only carried two missiles, plus an underfuselage gunpack. Both missiles were direct copies of the AIM-9L Sidewinder, so she could engage from head on if necessary. As she pushed the throttle forward a little, she reached forward and locked on the radar, which took several seconds longer than it had in her Raptor. _Stop,_ Cinder commanded herself, _the Raptor's gone. That little whore Ruby Rose took it._

The thought of losing her aircraft and being crippled by someone she regarded as a kid made her temper boil, but Cinder fought it down. As she'd expected, the Beowolf detected her radar lock, and twisted away, trying and successfully breaking the lock. Which was fine; she didn't have radar-guided missiles. The Beowolves' mutual protection was now broken, so Cinder snap-rolled to the left, going after her real target: the second Beowolf. It had begun turning to come in behind her, and now was head-to-head. Her Sidewinders growled as they picked up the heat of the sun reflecting off the Beowolf's fuselage. She fired a half-second later, then fishtailed the MiG's tail around to be able to see it guide. Luckily, it did, and the Beowolf exploded. Even as it did, Cinder stomped the right rudder pedal and turned hard, then dived; whatever the MiG lacked in visibility it made up for in maneuverability.

If the Beowolf's computer brain could think, it would realize it had been had. As soon as it had broken the lock, it had come back around to engage the MiG—only to find the MiG was not where it was supposed to be. Cinder's dive had thrown it off for a precious half-second; she gained another when she climbed. In that moment, the Beowolf was outlined against a cold, cerulean blue sky: a perfect, warm target. Cinder fired her second missile, and the other Beowolf joined its erstwhile comrade in another explosion.

_No way that's it,_ she thought, breathing hard into the mask. _That was too easy—there's got to be something else._ She kicked the tail around again, and saw the Beringel coming in hard for a gun pass, directly behind her. The Beringel's computer was smarter than the simpler Beowolves: it could actually evaluate a combat scenario. The GRIMM had kept its radar off so that the radar warning receiver at the base of the MiG-21's tail would not detect it. It was going to kill her with the gun, and since this was no simulation, the cannon rounds were live. Cinder swore. If she turned, the Beringel would easily compensate; if she dived, it would follow her into the dive, and it was better in the vertical than she was.

That left one option. Cinder pulled the stick into her lap and pulled the throttle straight back, turning the MiG's delta wing into a giant speedbrake. The MiG hung in midair, but the Beringel couldn't compensate in time: it shot past her. Screaming, Cinder rammed the throttle forward and the nose down. The GRIMM had dropped its flaps to slow down, but that left it a superb target. Going mainly by instinct, Cinder held the trigger down. The 23 millimeter shells lanced through the Beringel, tearing one wing off, and the GRIMM went into a terminal spiral that terminated in the forest below.

Cinder pulled the throttle back, did a quick look around the sky, and saw no other enemies. She sucked in oxygen from the mask, waves of agony radiating up the remains of her left arm and into her shoulder and chest. The new arm had worked well, but the nerve endings were still raw. She bit back another scream of pain, and instead tried to focus on the pain, to block it out.

"Test One, Base One," the radio crackled.

Cinder took a deep breath before replying in as steady of a voice as she could manage. "Test One."

"Test One, RTB. Boss says that's enough for today."

"Base One, roger that. RTB." Gratefully, Cinder turned back for home. She made a lazy approach and landed, keeping the nose up as long as she could, and popping the dragchute to slow the MiG-21 down. Once that was done, she jettisoned the 'chute and taxied under the camouflage tarps, where she shut the engine off. She opened the canopy—which oddly opened forward—and relaxed as the crew chief climbed up and helped her unstrap. Shakily, she made her way down the ladder and pulled off her helmet. Her hair was sticky with sweat, and for a moment, it pulled away from the ruined left side of her face. The crew chief saw the pink burn scars, the skin grafts that would never quite match the rest of Cinder's face, and the black eye patch. Cinder's remaining eye glared murder at the crewman until he turned away.

"Well done." Cinder turned towards the voice as she brushed her hair back down with her free hand; her artificial one cradled the helmet under one arm. Salem stood in her usual black robe; she seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of them. "I watched your combat on radar. Exceptional."

"Thank you," Cinder puffed, her voice raw. Her throat had healed from the burns, but her voice was still returning; it sounded and felt like she had been gargling with razor blades. The pain must have showed on her face, because Salem's smile faded. "Does it still hurt?" she asked. Cinder nodded. "Are you tired?" Another nod. "Ruby Rose wouldn't care. Neither would her friends."

"So you keep telling me," Cinder said.

Salem stepped closer. "I thought you were the girl who came to me wanting power. Did you lie?" The other woman shook her head. "Then do not complain about pain and fatigue." Then, to Cinder's surprise, Salem put a hand on her shoulder. "That said, you did well today, despite the limitations of the older MiG-21 design."

"I'll never beat Ruby or anyone else in that thing." Cinder thumbed back towards the MiG.

"I'm quite aware of that. There is—" Salem broke off as another aircraft appeared overhead, turned into the downwind circuit, and landed. "Well," she said sarcastically, "the prodigal returns." Cinder looked and saw Tyrian Callows' Skorpion taxi towards them. The once pristine black finish was pitted and patched with bare metal.

"He was in a fight?" Cinder asked.

Salem nodded. "Day before yesterday. He had to make an emergency landing at one of our outposts; it took him this long to get back. _Without_ Miss Rose, or much of anything else, for that matter." She waited, her robes billowing behind her in the wind as the Skorpion's engines wound down. The canopy opened, and Tyrian did not wait for the ladder to be placed: he hopped down, took off his helmet, and tossed it to a ground crewman, but not before Cinder noticed the huge dent in it. He walked towards Salem and threw himself to the ground, both hands before him, his head bent to the concrete. "Forgive me, my queen," he begged. " _Please_ forgive me."

Salem watched him for a moment. "Get up and follow me. Both of you." She turned and walked into the huge hangar carved into the side of the mountain. Tyrian instantly leapt to his feet and followed the woman like a dog hoping to be fed. Cinder felt a wave of revulsion go through her, handed her helmet to the crew chief, then followed.

They went to the conference room, what the rest of them had begun calling Salem's throne room. She sat in her high-backed chair, waved Tyrian and Cinder to their seats, then folded her hands on her lap. "Report," she said to Tyrian, in a flat voice.

"I followed Reaper Flight as instructed," Tyrian said, his head in his hands. "I followed them through Canada. But they were already being followed—by Qrow Branwen!"

Cinder noticed Salem's eyes widen just a fraction at the mention of that name. "I see. Continue."

"I tracked him to Juneau, where he met with his sister, Raven. It was her band that destroyed the second Nuckalevee, the one you dispatched to western Canada earlier in the year!"

Salem raised an eyebrow. "Ah. So that is who destroyed it. Curious; it was a newer design with more armor and firepower than my older one. I'm surprised the Branwen tribe had the firepower to bring it down. Oh well. How did you learn this?"

Tyrian suddenly smiled, an insane smile that made Cinder instantly want to leave the room; if Salem hadn't been sitting there, she would have. "There was a waitress that was sweet on Mr. Qrow, and overheard him talking to his sweet sister. She wanted to take him to bed, but he refused. Well, she didn't refuse _me._ I left Mr. Qrow a little message."

"God Almighty," Cinder could not help but whisper.

"You raped her?" Salem's voice did not change; it sounded like she was discussing the weather.

"Oh, no, my queen. I considered it, but the DNA would show that it was not Qrow Branwen. I tortured her and killed her." Cinder felt her stomach flip at the glee in Tyrian's voice. She considered herself without conscience, but Tyrian Callows made her look like a saint. "I had hoped the Juneau Police would frame Mr. Qrow for the murder, but I was wrong. Still, I sent him a message."

"Continue," Salem instructed.

"Per your orders, I and the mercenaries you had waiting at Chuguyevka ambushed Reaper Flight over Sakhalin—"

"Where Reaper Flight promptly wiped out the mercenaries and nearly shot you down," Salem interrupted.

Tyrian immediately bowed his head, not looking at her. "I know I have failed you, my queen. I am so sorry. I mistimed my ambush—"

"You _botched_ your ambush. The mercenaries were of no consequence, but that Skorpion was not easy to obtain. And now you have partially shown my hand. Thanks to your ineptitude, Ruby Rose is not here and is still alive—as is the rest of her flight."

Tyrian began to cry. "But—Qrow Branwen! I shot his Nighthawk down and killed him—"

"You did no such thing. He is alive and in Japan. Even his F-117 survived." Salem's voice had remained steady, but now it took on steel. "You did nothing but fail, Tyrian. And now Reaper Flight knows they're being hunted, by me."

Tyrian's head fell to the table as he continued to weep. "My queen, please, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." His head came up, eyes wild. "I'll do anything to make up for it. Anything!"

"Anything?" Salem's voice lost its anger. "Do you still carry that knife, or did you screw that up as well and leave it in Juneau?"

"No, my queen." He reached down into a thigh pocket of his flight suit, and withdrew the knife. It was long and serrated, a knife designed for only one purpose.

"Good. Cut off the thumb on your right hand." She nodded at the knife. "Now."

"Yes, my queen." Tyrian stripped off the glove on his right hand, took the knife in his left, and placed the blade on the knuckle. "Lower," Salem snapped, and he moved it down to where the thumb joined the hand. Once he had done so, he looked to her. She gave a single nod. Tyrian bore down with the knife, and Cinder felt like she was going to vomit.

"Stop!" Salem put up a hand, just as blood flowed out from under the blade. Tyrian halted. She stood and walked towards him. "Very well, Tyrian. You've proven your loyalty. I won't require your thumb—this time."

"I'm forgiven?" he blubbered pitifully.

"Yes. This time," she repeated.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Tyrian fell out of his chair, and began kissing Salem's feet through the robe. She stepped back. "That's enough. Leave." Tyrian nodded quickly, grabbed the knife, and walked backwards out of the door, bowing as he did so.

Salem returned to her chair, shaking her head. "My apologies, Cinder. I'm sorry you had to see that, but occasionally Tyrian needs a lesson."

Cinder let out a breath. "He's insane."

"Yes. A complete psychotic. Still, he has his uses—even if he did manage to thoroughly botch things." Salem sighed. "Well, he's out. I'll need to send someone to meet with Raven Branwen now, and it can't be him. He's liable to try to cut her throat if Raven looks crosseyed at him, and the Branwen tribe will feed him to the sharks." Salem regarded Cinder. "I think another few weeks, and you'll be ready."

"As I said, I'll need something better than that MiG."

"You will." Salem smiled. "And I think you're going to like it very much."

* * *

_Signal Air Force Base_

_North Carolina, United States of Canada_

_8 June 2001_

Rissa Arashikaze stood, hands behind her back, as the P-51 Mustang taxied to a stop. The propeller windmilled for a moment, then began slowly coming to a stop. A pair of grinning USAF airmen waited until the propeller came to a halt, and as the canopy was slid back, chocked the wheels. Then they stood back, not bothering to disguise their pure avarice at the shining bare metal machine. Rissa could appreciate the beauty and fine lines of the old fighter, but to her it was just a pretty weapons system; she wasn't much of an airplane person.

Yang and Taiyang Xiao Long climbed out of the fighter, taking off their helmets and headsets, then their parachutes, and leaving them in the two-place cockpit. They left their sunglasses on, to protect from the glare of sun on tarmac. Rissa stepped forward, putting out a hand. "Captain Xiao Long, I'm Rissa Arashikaze. I'm sure your father has mentioned me."

"Yeah." Yang took the hand and had hers shaken once; it was a good grip. She was surprised: her father had mentioned that the CIA woman was short, but Yang had a good foot on her. "Sorry I didn't meet you when you were, y'know, talking to Ruby."

"That's all right. You weren't doing too well at that point." Rissa smiled up at Yang. "I'm glad to see you're doing better. How's the arm?"

Yang flexed it and turned the wrist; there was the faint whine of gears. "Pretty good. Starting to get the hang of it." She thumbed at the P-51. "Flew that baby down here."

"Good, good." Rissa turned and shook hands with Taiyang. She noticed it was a much warmer handshake this time; he even gave her a grin. She also noticed his eyes flick downwards. Rather than fry in the North Carolina humidity and heat, Rissa had chosen to wear a short-sleeved blouse and a skirt that ended above her knees; Tai was admiring her legs. She actually blushed a little, and turned away before Tai caught it. "Well, follow me." She motioned them towards a hangar.

Yang easily caught up to the diminutive woman with two strides. "So, uh, what's all this about? You called last night."

"Yes, and I'm quite pleased to see how fast you're coming along," Rissa answered. "When do you think you'll be ready to get back in a F-15?"

"Oh, not too long, barring anything bad," Yang said. "Maybe a week or two. Probably two. There's a big difference between a Mustang and a '15."

"Unfortunately you won't be requalifying in a F-15."

Yang missed a step. "Why not?" She motioned around. Signal had dozens of Eagles, both single-seat F-15C models and two-seat F-15Ds and Es. "I already checked with Major Oum last week. Hell, he said he'd be my IP." Realizing that the CIA might not know what IP meant, Yang said helpfully, "Instructor Pilot."

"Let me amend what I said. You may be requalifying in a two-seater, but you won't be flying one operationally. A F-15, I mean."

"Oh." That shocked Yang a little, but she supposed it made sense. There were only so many F-15s to go around, and McDonnell Douglas wasn't building any more of the fighter version. She wouldn't want to bump another pilot. In the end, Captain Yang Xiao Long, USAF, wasn't all that important; she'd been shot down, after all. The USAF wasn't just going to hand her another F-15; Yang considered herself lucky not to have a letter of reprimand for losing her aircraft—or for that matter, a court-martial. She hadn't heard anything about her shootdown of Mercury Black, so she'd assumed Ironwood or someone—maybe even this shorty walking next to her—had smoothed that out, but it was still a possibility.

Rissa said nothing more as she walked to a door set into the side of the drab-painted hangar. Two USAF Security Police stood there, in fatigues, both with slung M16s. She reached into a pocket and showed a badge, then motioned to the two people behind her. "This is Captain Yang Xiao Long, and her father, Captain Taiyang Xiao Long, retired. They're with me. I will vouch for them."

The airman nodded, then both policemen saluted all three. "Very good, ma'am." Both men had been told to deny Rissa Arashikaze nothing, unless their next guard post wanted to be in Shemya, Alaska. Rissa opened the door and walked inside, the Xiao Longs following.

The door closed behind them, the temperature in the corridor dropping about twenty degrees in the air conditioning. Rissa wiped her brow. "So hot down here. I don't know how you stand it." She stopped at the door leading into the hangar and speared Yang with a cold look. "Before we go any further, Captain, I need to know something. Are you planning on joining your sister and the others in Reaper Flight?" A small smile. "That's what they're calling themselves now."

_Reaper Flight?_ Yang thought. _Badass. Good one, Rubes._ "Yeah. Hell yeah."

"They're on a very dangerous mission. One that has already almost cost them their lives." She looked past Yang to her father. "I received a message from Japan this morning. Major Qrow Branwen was badly wounded in a dogfight over the Sea of Okhtosk, and both Captain Rose and Major Nikos' aircraft were shot up. All of them are fine and Branwen will recover, but it was a near-run thing."

"Qrow?" Taiyang asked. "What the hell was he doing there?"

Rissa didn't answer, but returned her attention to Yang. "You should also know that a similar mission cost your adopt—your mother her life." She caught herself in time. "I want you to know what you're agreeing to."

Yang smiled. "Like I said, ma'am—hell yeah." She didn't see the pain in her father's face. The knowledge that Ruby and his brother-in-law had almost been killed in the same general area as Summer was tearing him up, and it was all he could do not to show it. And now Yang was agreeing to fly into the same area.

Rissa had caught the pain, and apologized with her eyes. "You're sure?" she asked Yang.

"How many times do I have to say it?"

"Very well." Rissa unlocked the door and walked into the hangar. She stood aside to let Yang see what waited alone within. "As I said," the CIA director remarked casually, "there were no F-15s readily available. I hope this will do."

Yang stepped into the hangar and stopped, her mouth hanging open.

She'd often said that the F-22 Raptor didn't look like something of the earth, as it was so advanced. This aircraft was even more so. The nose somewhat resembled the Raptor, but that was where the comparison ended. The short fuselage blended back into two flattened engines, surmounted by twin, outwardly canted tails; below the engines and forward, two intakes slanted backwards, barely visible. It sat low to the ground, as low as a F-22, the diamond-shaped wings giving it the impression of being flatter than it was. "It's…it's…holy shit," Yang stammered. She looked to Rissa for confirmation. "A Black Widow? A F-23?"

"I guess," Rissa shrugged, though it was obvious she knew exactly what the aircraft was. "That's what they told me, anyway. Not a pilot, myself—well, not a fighter pilot."

Taiyang stepped forward, less hesitant than Yang, and ran a hand over the thin wing. "She's a beaut," he murmured.

Yang was still rooted to the spot. "You mean…you're…this is going to be _mine?"_ She looked back to the F-23 in the same way a bride would look at a groom on her wedding night, only with more lust.

Rissa inspected her fingernails. "Well, the nose hasn't been painted yellow yet, but yes, she's yours."

"Holy fucking shit." Yang took a few steps forward, and touched the wingtip, as if she didn't quite believe it was real. "Holy fucking shit. I thought they only built two of these things before it lost out to the Raptor!"

"We're not saving them for museums," Rissa commented. "I take it you're suitably impressed?"

"'Suitably impressed?'" Yang repeated. She went over to the cockpit. The canopy was closed, but she'd read somewhere that it was based on the F-15's. It would not be hard to learn how to fly the Black Widow at all. "Are you kidding me? Who do I have to blow to thank for this?"

Rissa laughed. "That would be me, but I'm afraid you're not my type." She watched with a smile as the Xiao Longs walked around the F-23, commenting on it with the attention of experts. Tai was every bit as stunned as his daughter. She waited patiently until they were finished. "We don't have enough Raptors to go around as it is, and while I was lying about the F-15s—I'm sure the USAF would provide you one—your highly dangerous, and highly secret, mission is going to need something with a little more capability. I would vastly prefer that both you and your sister return to your father alive, and if getting this Black Widow out of mothballs will do that, then so be it."

"So I'm not in trouble for getting my ass shot off?" Yang asked.

"Not that I know of." Rissa's smile faded. "Captain, we all screw up sometimes. I will let you in on a little secret—on my first mission, I was the only survivor." The façade dropped just a little, and both Tai and Yang saw the human face behind the one Rissa Arashikaze normally wore. She suddenly looked smaller and older. "While this country doesn't reward failure, we also don't punish someone for the attempt. At least I believe so." The mask returned, and she pointed to Tai. "As soon as he says you're ready, you can take this thing up. However, if you wreck it, you'll be joining your sister in that antique parked out front, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Yang tossed off a half-assed salute.

"All right, I—" Rissa was interrupted by a ringing from her pocket. She pulled out a flip phone, excused herself, and moved back into the corridor. Yang went back to admiring the F-23. "Dad, can you believe this? Holy fucking shit! Gad, I could kiss that little gal!" She ducked down, looking in the intakes. "Man, this is better than sex!"

Tai covered his eyes. "Yang…"

"Oh, sorry, Dad." Yang grinned at her father. " _Almost_ better." She saw Rissa come back in. "I apologize," the CIA woman said. "I have to leave for England immediately. Feel free to drool over your airplane for as long as you like, but don't tell anyone about it. It will remain under guard until you're ready to fly it—and you'll be the only one allowed to fly it, no matter how much Major Oum begs you. He knows about it, by the way, but he and a handful of others on base are it. Understood?"

"Yes," Tai answered.

"You betcha," Yang replied. Then she sobered a little. "Miss Arashikaze?" She stumbled over the Japanese a little. "If you're going across the pond, could you…could you maybe see how Weiss and…well…Blake are doing?"

Rissa hesitated, then nodded. "I'll see what I can do, Captain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yang's not incorrect: there were only two YF-23s built, and it lost to the YF-22 as the F-15's replacement and the USAF's 5th gen fighter. Rissa is wrong, however (or lying)--both YF-23s were saved for museums, where they are today, in the real world. (Also in this AU, apparently Boeing never acquired McDonnell Douglas...)


	16. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss begins her escape attempt, as Ironwood threatens to deploy US troops to break the embargo. She's got Klein helping her...and Whitley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early update, as I am going to be on hiatus again for about two weeks.

_Schnee Manor (Herrencheimsee)_

_Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany_

_8 June 2001_

Weiss Schnee looked around her bedroom, one last check to see if she had missed anything. She hadn't. She looked forlornly down at her single suitcase, then smiled at herself. _Well, Weiss…Ruby did give you hell for not traveling light. I guess this is what I get._ She'd packed enough for one week—mostly clothes, though she did bring two books and a few CDs for her CD player. She hesitated before closing the suitcase. "I have to be out of my mind," she said aloud.

There was a soft knock at the door, then it opened to admit Klein Sieben. He carried a tray of food and set it down. "You should eat, Weiss."

"I will. Thank you." She sat down at the small table and began wolfing down the bread and meat. There was no telling when she would be able to eat again. She stopped halfway through the meal. "Klein, am I doing the right thing?"

He sighed and sat down across from her. "Miss Schnee, I've watched you grow into a fine young woman. When you returned from Vytal Flag, you'd _matured_ into a fine young woman. There was no more of that selfishness or attitude you'd had before."

Weiss chuckled. "That's putting it straight to me."

"I must be straight with you, Miss Schnee, because no one else will." Klein toyed with one of the dishes. "And therefore I should warn you…if you go through with this, you will not just be giving up this family. I understand your reasoning for that, and honestly, I cannot blame you…sadly enough. But you will also be giving up your career in the Luftwaffe. They will declare you absent without leave, and should you ever return to Germany, you will be arrested, court-martialed, and possibly imprisoned. Your father will not only not help you, he'll be a witness for the prosecution. Not even your sister will be able to help you then." He faced her directly. "Can you accept that?"

"Yes." Weiss did not hesitate. She'd already gone over it in her mind over several sleepless nights. She hated to give up her career, and even her family would not be easy. Her father she could not care less about, but there was still her mother—Weiss' leaving would probably cause her to start drinking again. Winter would hate her as a deserter; she was remarkably straitlaced like that. Even Whitley would be affected; Jacques might imprison him at the Manor to keep from losing his last heir. "Can you? If Father knows you've helped me escape…"

"Your father can't run this manor without me," Klein smiled. "He will be angry, he will withhold my pay, and he will rage for weeks. But he will also get over it." He waited as she resumed eating, then said, "So what is your plan after you get out of Germany?"

"Get to Menagerie and find Blake Belladonna and her family. Ask for political asylum. And then go from there." She shrugged. "Menagerie doesn't have an air force, but once I renounce my German citizenship, perhaps the Americans will take me." She laughed, with a trace of bitterness. "I suppose I could go mercenary, if worse comes to worse."

"I should hope not." He said nothing further until Weiss finished eating. Then he walked over to her suitcase, opened it, inspected it, rearranged a few things, and closed it again. "I will return in an hour, Miss Schnee." He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Weiss went into her bathroom and stripped to her panties. She brushed her hair out of its bun. She then began the process of dying her hair coal black. It took awhile—the Weiss white simply would not go down without a fight—but she finally got it right. There was nothing she could do about her ice-blue eyes, which would attract attention, but she was able to at least partially cover up the scar with some makeup. It would not fool anyone looking explicitly for Weiss Schnee, but it would fool the _Bundesgrenzschutz,_ the German border patrol, that watched the airports. Hopefully. Weiss then dressed in the most drab clothes she owned, and put a pair of glasses in a pocket. They were an old pair of her mother's; Willow had once worn reading glasses until she had gotten her eyes surgically corrected. Weiss could not see through them very well, but they would get her onto the flight from Munich to London. Already packed into her purse was a fake passport, under the name Pearl White; the passports had been prepared years ago for when the Schnees needed to travel abroad without having to worry about the White Fang tracking them down. Her father would know about the fake name, but hopefully she'd be in Menagerie before he could stop her at the border.

She heard Klein come in, and took a deep breath. _Well, here I go._ She walked out of the bathroom. "How do I look?"

"Terrible, Miss Schnee. But I suppose that is what we will need." He paused for a moment, then sighed again, and waved her out of the room.

The sun was beginning to set out of the windows. It would take an hour to get to the airport, and half an hour to get on the flight. The flight itself would be about an hour and a half, then half an hour through customs—that would be the tough part, Weiss reflected, because there was a chance that, by that time, her father would be looking for her. Then another hour to Menagerie. _And then I throw myself on the mercy of the Belladonnas. How ironic._

They made their way down the hall as quickly as they could, towards the library. It would take them directly past her father's office.

* * *

General James Ironwood stood in front of Jacques Schnee's desk, hands behind his back. They were there so he didn't wrap them around the other man's throat. "You need to control yourself, Jacques." He struggled to keep his own voice under control.

"Me? I need to be under control?" Jacques was on his feet, leaning across the desk. "Do you even hear what you're saying, General?"

"I am basing everything on the reports I am given—reports given to me by Winter, your own daughter."

Jacques snorted. "My own daughter. A daughter you stole from me."

"One you drove away—" Ironwood stopped himself. "No, we are _not_ getting into that, Jacques."

"No, I suppose not. Not when we have more pressing matters, like your lunacy!" Jacques brought a fist down on a stack of papers. "You want me to pressure the EU to end the embargo, when you Americans have done nothing to address the fiasco at Beacon?"

"The Secretary of Defense resigned. So will the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The rest of the responsibility will be placed on Captain Ozpin." The words grated on Ironwood. Just as Ozpin himself had predicted, he was to be made a scapegoat.

"Oh yes, how convenient. Blame everything on the dead man. Meanwhile, you have an orbital weapons platform orbiting over our heads! How do we know that you crazy Yanks won't drop one of these…these 'rods from God' onto this mansion!"

_Don't tempt me,_ Ironwood wanted to say. "And I've already told you that the orbital weapons satellite was a one-use only unit, and it was used because otherwise we'd still be pulling bodies out of Chicago."

"Assuming you're not lying, as usual." Jacques flipped through the papers until he found the one he wanted. "And now you're telling me there is a threat to the EU's borders from the east, based on extremely sketchy information that an unknown enemy _might_ be preparing to move against Japan?"

Ironwood forced himself to remain calm. "That is credible intelligence, Jacques, provided by Winter, who is my best. If she thinks there's a viable threat to the EU, I'm inclined to believe her. The British believe that the threat in Japan is credible enough to send a retired Air Commodore over there to investigate." He leaned forward and pointed at the report. "Jacques, without the United States, NATO is vulnerable and you know it. This power play of yours is playing with fire. You keep up that embargo and you might find yourself all alone. I don't think the Polish Free Legions is going to be too inclined to die to the last man to defend Germany, and there's only so much Robyn Hill's Happy Huntress mercenaries can do if she's not backed up by the Luftwaffe. I don't trust the EU to stop whatever is happening in the Russian Dead Zone without help."

"That's your problem," Jacques hissed. "You've never trusted anyone other than yourself."

"And for good reason!" Ironwood suddenly shouted, pushed too far.

Jacques stepped back. "You need to control yourself," he said, throwing Ironwood's words back at him.

"All right," Ironwood said after a moment to get a rein on his temper. "I didn't want to do this, but you're not going to listen to reason. So fine. NATO will protect the European people, even if their so-called leaders won't. By this time next week, I will activate Operation Reforger. American military units will deploy to Europe under OPLAN 311."

"You can't do that!" Jacques snapped.

"Oh, but I can," Ironwood smirked. "NATO troops are not under the command of the EU. They're under the command of SACEUR—that is, _me._ You can complain to Brussels all you want, Jacques. By the time those bureaucrats figure out what they're going to do, there will be three American divisions in Germany and Poland. I imagine the EU will go along with me at that point." He straightened. "And in that case, I think you'll want to be on my good side, Jacques." Without saying anything more, he turned and walked towards the door of the office.

* * *

Klein and Weiss had stopped at the angry voices coming from the office, afraid to go further if Ironwood stormed out, which seemed likely. Now they both realized they'd made a mistake: they should have kept going, using the noise to cover their movements. Now Ironwood was actually leaving the office, and unless he suddenly went blind between the office door and the stairway to the main hall, he would see both Weiss and Klein. Klein motioned Weiss behind him, into the shadows, for all the good it would do.

Then both of them heard soft footfalls on carpet. Coming down the hallway was Willow Schnee.

* * *

Unknown to anyone in the Schnee Manor—with the exception of Klein-Willow had liberally installed cameras around the entire manor. She no longer trusted her husband, if she ever had, and used the camera footage to ensure she had blackmail material, in case it was ever necessary. Unknown to the man she slept alongside every night, Willow had never forgiven, and would never forgive, Jacques for driving away one daughter and imprisoning a second.

Willow had been watching the argument unfold in Jacques' office when she'd spotted Weiss and Klein moving down the hallway together. She had seen Weiss' disguise, knew immediately what her youngest daughter was planning, and determined to help. She had done nothing to stop Jacques, and it deeply shamed her. And now, despite it being a dagger in her heart to see Weiss throwing away a career she'd fought so hard to keep, she was going to do something.

In her hands was a tray of cheese and crackers, with a bottle of schnapps. Her fingers shook, as her body cried out for the alcohol it craved. There was a bottle of water on the tray as well, for her, and she prayed she could resist the urge to drink and drink until she could no longer think. She had just arrived at the office door when Ironwood flung it open. "Oh, General," she said. "Leaving so soon?" She forced her way into the office, which caused Ironwood to retreat back into the office as well. She nudged the door shut with her foot. "Both of you need to remember who you are," she advised. "And please, General, accept the hospitality of this house." She reached for the schnapps. Ironwood intercepted her hands, nodded in understanding, and opened the bottle to pour a glass for himself and Jacques.

"Willow?" Jacques asked in amazement. "Where is Klein? He usually does this."

"Oh, Klein is helping Whitley. Whitley is going into Munich tonight—to party, I suspect." She pasted a fake smile on her face as Jacques scowled. "Jacques, please. Whitley is young. You already keep Weiss shut in; you can't expect him to do the same."

"I suppose you're right." Jacques accepted the glass from Ironwood. "Better the boy sow his wild oats now, I suppose." He took a drink. "Speaking of Weiss, have you seen her?"

"I haven't," Willow lied.

* * *

Weiss rushed into the library on Klein's heels; for a portly man, he could move rather fast. "How did Mother know I was there?" she asked. "Why's she covering for me?"

"I don't know. But she loves you, Miss Schnee." The first part was a lie, Klein reflected; undoubtedly Willow had been watching on the cameras. The second part was true. He stopped as they reached a blank section of wall. It was a false wall: beyond it was a passage leading to the garage, a way for the Schnee family to escape if it ever became necessary. "Miss Schnee," he said softly, "this is your last chance. You can still go back to your room. If you go through here, there is no turning back."

Weiss put a hand on the false wall. It was tempting. But that also meant staying here as a prisoner, while her father ruined her life. _At least this way, I'm ruining my_ own _life._ "Let's go, Klein."

"All right. One last thing." He reached under the tail of his shirt, and handed her a holstered pistol. Weiss' eyes widened. It was a Walther PPK, a small but effective weapon. "Klein, are you crazy?" she asked. "If the _Bundesgrenzschutz_ catches me with that at the airport, I'm dead!"

He smiled, reached into a pocket, and handed her a slip of paper. It was a permit for the gun in the name of Pearl White, good throughout the EU. She would have to put the pistol in her suitcase, but the border patrol would accept it—especially since it was signed by her father. "How did you…" Weiss began.

Klein's smile broadened. "I wasn't always a butler, Miss Schnee." He opened the false wall. "In you go."

Weiss ducked in, then turned and kissed the butler on his cheek. "Thank you. You've been more of a father to me than my own father."

"My duty, Miss Schnee." He gave her a wink and shut the door, which locked with a click. Weiss already had the little pocket flashlight she carried in her purse, and twisted it on. She followed the narrow corridor downstairs, wincing at the noise her suitcase made bouncing down the stairs. Finally, she reached the garage door, and opened it.

The Schnee family garage was enormous, with five cars, ranging from her father's Bentley, the family BMW limousine, her mother's Porsche 911 that she terrorized the autobahns with, the Volkswagen GTI that in theory was Weiss', and finally the Mercedes 300SL that Whitley Schnee stood next to, the gullwing doors open. "About time you got here," he said.

"I'm sorry. We got delayed. Ironwood and Father were arguing, and we had to wait until they were distracted."

"Well, hop in." He tossed her suitcase into the trunk—what little trunk the Mercedes had—and she got in the passenger side. "Slide down and keep out of sight." He tossed a blanket to her, and she wrapped herself in it. It would not fool the Schnee guards if they looked too closely, but Whitley and Weiss were counting on the bored guards not paying any attention.

Whitley also wasn't going to give them much of a chance. Much to Weiss' chagrin, as soon as he was out of the garage, Whitley peeled out of the driveway and raced towards the main gate, flashing the headlights. The guards quickly opened the gates, and he threw them a quick wave as he went through the gates at over forty miles an hour. Once they were well clear of the manor, across the bridge and getting onto the autobahn, Weiss threw off the blanket and belted herself in.

Her brother grinned at her. "That was fun. Ready for next phase of the great escape?"

Weiss grinned back. She was free. She was shortly to be without a home, without a family, and without a country, but she was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Operation Reforger does actually exist. In the real world, it was developed so American divisions could quickly cross the Atlantic by air, take up prepositioned equipment in Germany and the Netherlands, and be ready to repulse a Soviet or Russian invasion. In this world, it's to stop a massive GRIMM attack.


	17. Here I Go Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss is caught at Heathrow, but a friend from the past has an offer. Ghira meets with MI6 over Ilia's cellphone, and Sun and Blake have a confrontation...or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from my trip, which will be the last for the year (hopefully). Let's get back into the story.

_London Heathrow International Airport_

_London, United Kingdom_

_9 June 2001_

Weiss Schnee sat in the boarding lounge for Menagerie Airways Flight 2417, trying to ignore passerby and concentrate on the book she'd bought at the Munich airport. It was _Ninjas of Love III: One Night in Edo_ , the third in the series of trashy romance novels that Blake enjoyed; Weiss found it to be overwritten in some places and filled with hair-raising sex scenes in others. _Ruby was right,_ Weiss thought to herself, _this is filth._ Still, it was just interesting enough to occasionally get her mind off the fact that she was now a fugitive, AWOL from the Luftwaffe and probably a woman without a country. And that everyone was staring at her, although in actuality, no one was.

The escape from Germany had actually gone without a hitch. After Whitley had dropped her off at the Munich airport, she'd passed through security without much difficulty; even the pistol in her luggage had not seemed to bother the _Bundesgrenzschutz,_ since she'd presented her license for it when she'd arrived at the checkpoint. Customs at Heathrow also went smoothly. Weiss remembered the lessons she'd gotten when she'd appeared in plays growing up: she'd become the part. Pearl White was an American expatriate headed back to her home in London after a sightseeing trip to Germany. The security men at both airports were bored and tired, and Weiss knew that they would pay no attention to her unless she acted nervous. And there was no reason to be nervous: Pearl White would be bored and tired as well. Once through customs at Heathrow, she'd purchased her ticket on the flight to Glasgow—the second flight that morning. By now, her father would have noticed her missing, and he might figure out that she was running towards her nearest friend—Blake Belladonna. If he did, he would assume she had changed planes quickly, not sat in a Heathrow boarding lounge for four hours in the early morning. It was risky, but Weiss figured she'd already risked everything else.

Over the book, she saw a Faunus in Menagerie Airways' blue uniform move to the ticket counter, and started putting everything into her carry-on; they were clearly about to announce boarding for the flight. It was then that she noticed two policemen walking directly towards her. Weiss glanced around, but there was nowhere to run—and if she started running, she would immediately confirm her identity.

"Miss White?" one of them asked. "Can we have a word with you?"

Weiss acted surprised, as Pearl White would have been if two airport security men walked up to her. "Sure," she said, doing a fair imitation of Ruby's high-pitched, slightly nasal accent. She'd been using that voice since Munich. "What's up, officers?"

The policeman smiled apologetically, and lowered his voice. "It's about the, ah, gun in your luggage, ma'am."

"I have a permit. The cops in Germany cleared it."

"Yes, ma'am, of course. But we do need to see it." He shrugged. "It's routine, ma'am. We'll make sure you don't miss your flight."

There was no real reason to protest, which would attract attention. "Well, okay," Weiss said. "Lead on." She followed both of the police to a nearby office, but noticed a third taking up position behind them. That set off alarm bells, just as it would if she'd looked behind her in _Myrtenaster_ and saw a GRIMM sliding into her six o'clock. But again, there was nowhere to run.

The office was bare bones, just a small security office. She heard the door shut behind her. There were a few chairs and a table. Behind the table was an older, heavyset man, with graying hair and a thick beard. He was dressed in a RAF uniform, with the blue rings of an Air Vice Marshal on his cuffs. Just for a moment, Weiss saw the swish of a tail behind him, that of a lion. It reminded her of someone, and she knew instantly who this was. And knew just as instantly that she'd been caught.

Weiss came to attention. "Air Vice Marshal Lionheart, sir."

He nodded and smiled. "I don't think we've met, Hauptmann Schnee, but I'm glad you recognize me. It saves the trouble of you trying to convince us that you're someone that you're not."

"No, sir." Weiss couldn't keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Lionheart looked to the two policemen. "That will be all, gentlemen. Thank you." The two men gave a brief bow and left the office. She and Lionheart were now alone. "Before you think about running out the door," he advised her, "those two gentlemen are waiting outside. And there's others as well."

Weiss set her carry-on down and took a seat, feeling oddly defiant. "When did you know?"

"When Pearl White passed through customs, it warned MI5 that a Schnee was in the country. Given your family's targeting by the White Fang, you're entitled to a security detail. MI5 was quite surprised to find you in disguise—took them awhile to track you down."

Weiss sighed. She'd stepped out of one trap and then right into another, of her own making. She should have known that MI5—Britain's internal security force—would have her passport and those of the other Schnees flagged. Yet if she had boarded the first flight out, she would be in Menagerie by now and out of MI5's reach—and her father's. But she'd outthought herself, and now she was truly trapped. "I see. So will I be sent home on the next Lufthansa flight, or in chains?"

Lionheart laughed. "Neither."

"My father knows I'm here?" Weiss made it a question.

"Not likely. Oh, he knows you've left—in fact, he seems to have learned it while you were in flight between Munich and here. But he made the mistake of accusing Ironwood of helping you. Naturally, the good general denied everything, but figured out that you would not be so foolish as to attempt to fly to the United States. No, you'd come here—to throw your father off the scent and to travel to see the Belladonnas." His smile got wider. "I didn't realize that the Luftwaffe gave their pilots training in skullduggery."

"It comes with the territory when you're hunted by the White Fang," Weiss said.

"Quite. Ironwood contacted MI5, learned about the legendary yet dowdy Miss Pearl White arriving at Heathrow, and then asked me to speak with you—once we found you, of course."

"I don't understand," Weiss told him. "I'm absent without leave from my post. At the very least I'm facing court-martial."

"At the moment, yes. You are indeed absent without leave. However, General Ironwood and myself are working on orders that will temporarily detach you from your 'duties' at Herrencheimsee to my post…at Yokota, Japan. It seems the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force plans on equipping its F-2 force with DUST. And who better than Hauptmann Weiss Schnee to advise them on how it works?" Lionheart leaned back in the chair. "Given that your input will lead to the JASDF buying DUST, even your father might forgive you, if it puts millions of Deutschmarks in his pocket. Does that sound adequate, Hauptmann?"

Weiss found herself grinning stupidly. She was no longer a fugitive at all. She was not only escaping her father, her own superior officers were going to help her do it. "It does indeed, Air Vice Marshal."

"There is a hitch." Lionheart stared at the ceiling for a moment. "The orders won't be drawn up for awhile yet. I could keep you here under wraps, but your father is, as you know, a very powerful man. He could put enough pressure on Her Majesty's Government to hand you back over, and both Ironwood's and my own hands would be tied. So we need to get you off British soil as soon as possible, and unobtrusively as possible. Flying direct to Japan, commercially or even militarily, would cause issues. Your father can put pressure on the Japanese government as well. So instead of flying you east…we'll fly you west."

"To the United States?" Weiss found her heart beating faster. The United States meant a lot more friends than she had here. Ruby was no longer there, but Yang was, as were a lot of other Beacon veterans.

"Yes, but by the time you get there, Captain Xiao Long may be on her way to Japan as well. It would be best to avoid contact. You'll stop there once or twice, then make your way across the Pacific." Lionheart folded his hands in front of him. "I will be honest, Miss Schnee. You'll be flying in a cargo aircraft—an old Russian one at that. It would be the last type of aircraft a Schnee would be found on, which is why you'll be using it. The pilot is a dependable one, an old friend of the family, if you will. He will get you there, no error…but it won't exactly be British Airways first class, mind. It will be cold and noisy, but your father won't be looking for you on it—nor will your sister." Weiss grimaced; Winter might be looking for her as well, and not necessarily to protect her. Winter despised their father as much or more than Weiss did, but Winter also could be very strict when it came to regulations, and Weiss had violated pretty much all of them. "By the time you reach Haven—that's what we're calling the base at Yokota nowadays; it's something of a codename—your orders will be approved, and Jacques Schnee can whistle for his dinner." He smiled again. "Any questions?"

"You've given this a lot of thought," Weiss remarked.

"Not the first time I've worked on the shady side of the street, Hauptmann."

"Then I have only two questions. The first is, why are you doing this? Why help me?"

Lionheart's eyes, which had been twinkling like a Faunus Santa Claus, suddenly went granite hard. "For the same reason I came out of retirement. Whoever attacked Beacon also killed my little Ruth. She was all I had left, and the bastards took her from me." At Weiss' expression of shock, he nodded grimly. "She was murdered, Hauptmann. The CIA confirmed it to me. Whoever killed her I will see dead, I swear by God and all the saints. If helping you gets me one step closer to Ruth's killers, then I will gladly throw away this uniform and my career. Luckily, it seems my government and others won't make that particular sacrifice necessary."

Weiss gave him a solemn nod, then smiled herself. "My second question is…when do I leave?"

The hard look on Lionheart's face instantly disappeared, replaced by a toothy grin. "Immediately."

* * *

_The Belladonna Lodge_

_Paisley, Menagerie_

_9 June 2001_

Sun Wukong slowly woke up. At first, he couldn't remember where he was, then he realized he was laying on the couch in the spacious living room of the lodge. He blinked and looked across at the recliner, where Blake Belladonna sat. He grinned at her. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." He'd fallen asleep with his shirt off.

Blake blinked herself. "Sorry. I wasn't staring."

"Then why did you say you were sorry?"

Blake looked away. "Shut up. You're such an asshole."

"Ow. That hurt worse than your friend kneeing me in the balls." Sun moved on the couch, and winced as a little tendril of pain rolled upwards from his groin. "Okay, _almost_ worse." He'd actually had to go to the hospital, after one of his testicles had swollen; Ilia had done some real damage to him. It still hurt, even a few days later.

"Are you all right?" she suddenly asked.

"Sure. It only hurts when I breathe." He saw the alarm on her face and waved his hands. "I'm just kidding, Blake. It doesn't hurt hardly at all, honestly." He sat up to prove it. "It could be worse. Didn't you say she was the one who almost nailed Weiss over Mountain Glenn? She could've shot me down. Now you want pain…" Suddenly he realized what he'd said. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Blake. I'm sorry. I didn't even think about Yang."

Blake was quiet for several minutes, as Sun tried to think of a way to make up for his faux pas. Then she spoke, in a low voice. "This is why, Sun. This is why I ran."

"Huh?"

"I'm done, Sun." Blake's voice rose, and she slammed a fist into the arm of the chair—which was heavily upholstered, so the effect was somewhat muted. The rage in her yellow eyes was not. "I am _done_ seeing my friends get hurt because of me!"

"Blake, c'mon. It's not even the first time I've been kneed in the nuts—"

"Shut up!" she exploded. "It's not all about you!" She jumped to her feet, teeth bared. "Every day, Sun. Every fucking _day_ I think about Ruby, and Weiss, and Yang. They were my friends! They were the first people outside my own family that I knew I could trust. I loved them like I've never loved anyone, except my parents." She collapsed back in the chair, hands pressed to her face, the tears falling and hating herself because she couldn't stop it. "What the hell is wrong with me, Sun? Why? Why do I _do_ this? Why do I always run?" She began sobbing, smacking a fist into the arm of the chair. "God, they hate me. I hope they hate me. I don't deserve friends."

Sun stood and walked over to her. He tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she drew away. "Blake, please," he said. "You know that's not true."

"It's true," Blake insisted. "It has to be." She stood and put distance between them, back to him. "Don't try to help me, Sun. Everyone thinks they can, but they can't. Everyone's better off without me." The words were spilling out now, words Blake had been saving for a long time. She couldn't stop them. She didn't want to. She wanted to cry and cry and cry until there were no tears left. She wanted to smash her fist into something, anything, most of all herself.

Blake was surprised when Sun grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. She raised a hand to hit him, but was stopped by the anger in his eyes. She'd never seen Sun angry, but he was now. His tail curled around her wrist tightly. "Now that's enough," he snapped. "Blake, what the fuck? You think you're being selfless by keeping everyone away? Well, you're not. You're just isolating yourself. I don't hate you and Ruby Flight damn sure doesn't. I think the only person that hates you is yourself." He gripped her shoulders tighter, enough that it hurt. "I don't care if your chameleon friend had shot me, Blake. I don't care if she tries to shoot me the next time. I'll still do it if it meant that you're not hurt." He let go one shoulder to poke her in the chest. "And I _guarantee_ Yang would do the same."

He let go of her and stepped back, shaking his head. "You can make your own choices, Blake. You don't get to make ours. When Yang jumped Adam in that fight, it's because she wanted to. When I tackled Miss Crotch Kicker, it was because _I_ wanted to. Stop pushing us out, Blake. That really _does_ hurt worse than anything."

Blake was quiet again, massaging her arms. Then she said, "I guess you've been wanting to say that for awhile."

"Maybe a little. Someone has to." He looked away from her. "Granted, it would've been better from Yang maybe. But you've got to stop this, Blake. It's not healthy. You want to rest here for awhile? Okay, great. You've earned that. But if you want to stop running…then _stop running."_

"It's not that simple."

"Yeah, actually it is. You need to realize you've got a lot of people who like being your friend." He massaged his scalp. "What was it that Professor Ozpin told us one time? That someone can feel strong and courageous around friends? I know I do."

 _And so did I,_ Blake thought. She realized that, after leaving the White Fang and before Ruby Flight, she'd merely been existing. Maybe that was true when she was with the White Fang as well. But at Vytal Flag, in the club during the drunken blowout after Lake Michigan, in the dorm room joking around with Yang, even in combat itself…she had felt alive. She hadn't been just existing; she'd been _living._

Blake walked to Sun, stood on tiptoe, and kissed his cheek. He started in surprise. First she'd been screaming about how everyone hated her, then she'd been ready to slap him, now she was kissing him. Blake's mood swings were something to behold. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For telling me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear."

He looked at his bare feet. "Sorry if I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me."

Suddenly both of them realized that they were close to each other again. She was staring at his face, and he looked up into those yellow eyes, bright and beautiful. Sun decided that he couldn't criticize Blake for mood swings, since a minute ago he'd been yelling at her, and now he really, really wanted to kiss her. Hesitatingly, he brought up his hands to her cheeks. She didn't move away. "Sun," she whispered. "I don't…I don't know if…"

He bent down. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her lips opened. He was close enough to taste her breath, to feel it…

Both of them nearly leapt into the ceiling when the door crashed down. In the doorway stood a blushing Kali Belladonna. "Oh my!" she said in an utterly synthetic act of surprise. "These blasted doors. We really do need to have them replaced. Why, they fall in at the slightest of touches…"

Blake covered her eyes. "Mom…" she groaned.

Sun sighed and waved. "Hi, Mrs. B."

* * *

_Vauxhall Cross_

_London, United Kingdom_

_9 June 2001_

Ghira Belladonna shook hands with the head of MI6. Movies would have had the man be the quintessential British gentleman: a short, older man with a pipe, perhaps, or even female, a grandmotherly type with a voice of steel. Instead, Stewart Menzies was tall, and if he was pushing fifty, he didn't look it. Under the business suit was a musculature that rivaled Ghira's own. For a second, he and Ghira tested the other's grip; neither was disappointed. Menzies motioned Ghira to a seat, and walked behind the impressive desk. "Mr. Belladonna—or is it Chief?"

"Mister is fine," Ghira replied. "Should I call you Mr. Menzies…or M?"

Menzies laughed. "That's actually a joke around here. Shall we compromise? You can call me Stewart."

"Then you can call me Ghira."

"A drink?" Menzies opened the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. Ghira nodded, and Menzies poured both of them a glass. Once Ghira had his, the head of MI6 sat down himself, reached into his desk, and pushed across the cell phone. "Let me begin by saying that this was very interesting listening—if not interesting viewing."

Ghira nodded. "I agree. The video and sound quality was very poor. That's why I brought it to you."

"And we appreciate it." Menzies took a drink and sighed. "Sadly, I'm afraid it's not enough to have Sienna Khan arrested."

"It is her voice," Ghira protested. "For that matter, it was her voice in the broadcast before the Battle of Beacon."

"I know that, and you know that," Menzie agreed. "But a court of law won't know that. If we were to arrest her, Ghira, she would beat the charge. As she's had before. Interpol has been following Sienna around for years, and they've tried everything. Oh, we _know_ that she slipped away to the United States, shortly before the White Fang launched their attacks—both of them. The failed one from Mountain Glenn, and the later one that was successful. It's strangely coincidental that Sienna drops off the face of the earth before all this happens, and then just as suddenly returns after it's all over. We can match the voice, perhaps we could even trace her movements…but she has good lawyers. The most we could do is not allow her to visit the UK. And even then it might not work."

Ghira felt like throwing the liquor glass against the wall. He'd thought that Ilia Amitola's cell phone would be the smoking gun that he could use to finally destroy Sienna Khan. Menzies read his expression. "I'm sorry, Ghira. I suppose this is personal now."

"My daughter says Sienna was at Beacon. I believe her."

"And so do I. But haul Sienna in front of a court in Britain, and she'll claim that there are dozens of other tiger Faunus. And she'd be right." Menzies stirred the glass. "Even turning her over to the World Court in the Hague would do nothing. She'd have them tied up in procedural issues for decades." He looked up at Ghira. "That leaves Menagerie."

Ghira sniffed a bitter laugh. "Menagerie's Council will do nothing for fear of alienating those Faunus who support the White Fang. She's probably going to stand for election later in the year. Supposedly Charles Tabey plans to step down due to health reasons."

Menzies chuckled. "I'll believe that when I see it. That old cat is immortal."

Ghira tossed off the rest of the drink. "Well, Stewart, I do apologize for wasting your time."

"Not at all. You didn't waste my time whatsoever." He held up a hand as Ghira started to get up. "Ghira, we didn't find enough to put Sienna in the dock. We _did_ learn plenty else."

Ghira resumed his seat. "Go on."

"It's Most Secret, but in this case, you should know. I can trust you to keep this to yourself—and your immediate family? Blake Belladonna is cleared Top Secret in the United States, so I believe I can trust her. As for you and your wife, you would be bound by the Official Secrets Act."

"You can trust me, Stewart."

"Very well then." Menzies pulled out a folder and handed it across to Ghira. In it was a transcript of the recording on the cell phone. Ghira squinted, cursed silently, and pulled his reading glasses out of a case he kept in his pocket. He scanned the document and looked up. "You were able to filter out all the background noise?"

"There were two female voices on the recording—one of which we're fairly certain is Sienna Khan. The other we haven't identified, but we believe it's Ilia Amitola. The male is Adam Taurus. I'm willing to stake my life on the latter. It appears they were in a sauna when the recording was made; the steam would degrade any bugs, and accounts for the hissing. Sienna may have had a white noise generator of some kind as well, but if she did, it was a primitive one, as we were able to filter it out, as you say. They're discussing the success of the attack on Beacon, and that the next target of the White Fang is Japan."

"I don't see Japan mentioned in here," Ghira said.

"They used codenames. Beacon isn't mentioned either, but they do reference 'Vale,' which was the name of the air defense sector there. Haven is mentioned several times, and we know from our American cousins that Haven is a codename for Japan." Ghira knew that Menzies referred to the CIA. "What we don't know is why the White Fang has targeted Japan. It makes little sense. The Japanese have never mistreated the Faunus; their record tends to be better than most in that regard. In fact, I would wager that the Japanese have an odd fascination with Faunus. Other than the odd cat maid café, there's nothing there that the White Fang would be angry over."

"There was nothing at Beacon the White Fang would be angry over, and they attacked anyway." Ghira rubbed his beard. "The attack on Beacon was an effort to embarrass and humiliate the Americans in the eyes of the world."

"Which largely succeeded—the EU has slapped the United States with an embargo."

"Could they be trying to do the same to Japan?" Ghira asked.

"To what end?"

Ghira shrugged. "Some people just want to see the world burn, Stewart."

Menzies nodded. "That is true, but we here at Six tend to look for other reasons than mere anarchy and revolution for the sake of revolution…though such a thing would fit into Adam Taurus' personality profile." He smiled. "Still, at least we know where their next target would be—assuming the message is legitimate." At Ghira's bristle, Menzies put up a hand again. "Come on, Ghira. The cell phone was found after a White Fang operative tussled with your daughter and her boyfriend—"

"Sun Wukong is _not_ her boyfriend," Ghira snarled.

Menzies actually looked a bit afraid of that. "Of course. Pardon me. But the phone was found after a fight with this Ilia Amitola? Who's to say it wasn't a deliberate plant to throw us off the scent of their real target?" He finished his own drink. "That said, given Sienna's efforts to disguise her voice and prevent eavesdropping, I'm convinced enough to think it's genuine. Perhaps Amitola was pushed too far by the attack on Beacon, and is now trying to help us. Though God help _her_ if that is true and she is caught." He put down the glass and stood; Ghira did as well. "Again, Ghira, thank you. Some information is better than none at all." He came around the desk to shake hands with the Faunus again, but the phone suddenly rang. Menzies excused himself and answered it, smiled, and acknowledged before he hung up. "Before you go, Ghira, I think you know my next appointment." The door opened to admit a heavyset Faunus with a graying beard as thick as Ghira's. "Air Vice Marshal Leonardo Lionheart is our contact in Japan. Unofficially, of course."

Lionheart shook hands with Ghira. "Good afternoon, Ghira," he said with a smile. "It has been awhile. When did we meet last?"

"Norway? Where I met Kali." Ghira was surprised. Leonardo Lionheart was around the same age as Ghira, but was far grayer, and looked much older than he was. "I was very sorry to hear about your wife…and your daughter. Blake spoke very highly of her."

There was pain in Lionheart's eyes, but he smiled slightly and nodded. "Thank you, Ghira. I was glad to hear that Blake was all right." He noticed the file on Menzies' desk. "I hope I am not interrupting anything—I am a little early."

"Not at all," Menzies assured him. "What I was telling Mr. Belladonna was what I wanted to talk to you about. Not to mention that thing at the airport..."


	18. Leaving On a Jet Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces are moving: Oscar is headed to Japan...with Hazel Rainart. Weiss is headed out too, but not how she thought she would be. 
> 
> And Cinder has a brand new toy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this is the end of "Season 4," but I don't think there's been enough chapters to call it good just yet, so we'll just swing right into "Season 5" without further adieu.

_Dubai International Airport_

_Dubai, United Arab Emirates_

_9 June 2001_

Oscar Pine tried to relax. He didn't know why he was nervous. He was a pilot, after all—newly graduated with wings of gold, yes, but still a pilot. He'd landed on carriers. There was no reason to be scared, sitting in seat 44K of a Boeing 747-400, Delta Airlines Flight 905 from Atlanta to Tokyo-Narita via Dubai. After all, the massive 747 had gotten him to Dubai without any issues, so the rest of the trip should be safe and easy. Even the weather had been good.

It was the people, Oscar decided. The flight was packed. Normally Delta would fly nonstop from Atlanta to Japan, over the pole at high altitude to avoid GRIMM. But now even higher altitudes were not safe. Even the alternate route through Hawaii was considered too risky, with the increased GRIMM presence over the former West Coast. So this was the only safe route—the long one, across half the world. At least the two seats next to him were still empty; the kind, nearsighted, little old lady that had flown with him from Atlanta had gotten off here to fly into Europe, which still wasn't allowing direct flights from the United States.

Then he saw the big man walking towards his row, and sighed. He was huge, with arms nearly as wide as Oscar's waist, a Lincolnesque beard and a mop of brown hair. Much to Oscar's chagrin, he stopped at row 44. The big man looked at the seat row number on the overhead bins—which he was eye level with—and then at Oscar. "I think you're in my seat," he rumbled.

Oscar hated to argue with him, but he pulled out his boarding pass. "Uh, it says I'm in 44K, and that was the seat I was given in Atlanta…"

The big man showed Oscar his ticket. It also read 44K. Then he smiled. "Ah, airline screwup." He waved it off and took a seat in 44H, the aisle seat. "To be honest, I need the leg room." He opened the overhead bin, stopped for a moment, then stuffed in his duffel before closing it. Carefully, he sunk into the seat, which squeaked alarmingly; Oscar wondered if he wasn't going to give the 747 a slight list to starboard on takeoff. "Where are you headed, sailor?" he asked Oscar.

"Sailor?" Oscar asked. He was traveling in civilian clothes, not in uniform.

"I know a TO-packed seabag when I see it." His smile widened and he put out a beefy hand. "Hazel Rainart. I was in the Marines for 20 years."

Oscar laughed a little, and took the hand. It was like shaking hands with a grizzly. "Oscar Pine. You're right; I'm Navy. Ensign; just graduated last week from Pensacola."

Hazel nodded. "I was ROTC. Good to meet you. Headed to Atsugi?"

Oscar hesitated. Technically, his mission was secret, but there were only so many US Navy bases in Japan, and Atsugi was the main flying base. "Yeah. First duty assignment. Super Hornets."

Hazel's eyebrows went up. "No kidding? I was in Harriers at Cherry Point. Did some time at Futenma in Okinawa, too." He settled back in his seat. "This time I'm just going for pleasure."

"Weird time to be traveling."

"True." Hazel turned and looked at him again. "Have we met before? If you don't mind me asking, where are you from?"

Oscar was pretty sure he would've remembered someone like Hazel. "I don't think so," he said, a little nervously. "I'm from Nebraska."

"Ah. No, I guess not…never been there." The engines began to spool up, and Oscar's hands began to shake. Hazel noticed it and chuckled. "Afraid of flying when you're not the pilot?"

"Yeah," Oscar replied. "How did you guess?"

"Most pilots are like that. I used to be myself." Hazel leaned back into his seat again to watch the safety briefing. "Nothing to worry about," he told Oscar softly. "It's the safest way to travel."

* * *

_London Heathrow International Airport_

_London, United Kingdom_

_9 June 2001_

Weiss Schnee pushed the wide-brimmed sun hat down further on her head, then self-consciously ran her fingers through her white hair. Her fingers came away stained. She'd washed the hair coloring out in a private bathroom while Leonardo Lionheart waited, then changed clothes. She and Lionheart had then left through a service entrance, climbed into an airport utility vehicle, and drove across the busy tarmac and runways to the cargo area—just the two of them. Weiss was more nervous as herself than she had been masquerading as Pearl White, as if every eye in Heathrow were on them. As Lionheart assured her, nobody would be watching a mere airport service vehicle in a sea of similar vehicles, start carts, luggage trucks, and airliners.

Her nervousness didn't recede any when she saw what Lionheart was driving towards, on one corner of the cargo ramp. At first, she thought he was heading towards one of the shiny DC-10s or A300s decorated with the colors of various cargo companies. Instead, the aircraft he was heading towards was not shiny, nor did it wear the colors of any cargo airline she was aware of. "You _must_ be joking," she said.

"This is the best way," Lionheart reassured her.

They stopped under the transport's wing, and Weiss climbed out. It was an Antonov An-12, produced just before the Third World War, with a circular fuselage, slab tail, and glass nose that made it look like a throwback to World War II. Two huge turboprops out of four stuck out over her head. She stared back towards the tail. _God, it's even got tail guns. Maybe this isn't such a good idea_. The aircraft was painted overall light gray, but it was streaked with dirt and exhaust stains. Other than a single blue cheatline running the length of the aircraft, it had no markings other than CARGO in red letters behind the cockpit. "What a piece of junk," she said.

"It may not look like much," said a new voice, "but it'll get you where you need to go." They turned, and Weiss was seized with a sudden impulse to get back on a plane to Germany, and beg her father for forgiveness. He was tall, with features that showed a lot of exposure to the sun, wore a green flight suit, mirrored sunglasses, and a cowboy hat. If that wasn't enough, he wore a pair of holstered M1911 .45 caliber pistols on both hips, with pearl grips. _No, ivory,_ Weiss corrected herself.

Lionheart smiled. "Weiss Schnee, this is Rick Tardor." The pilot stuck out a filthy hand. Weiss stared at the hand as if it was a rattlesnake. Rick saw the hesitation and wiped the hand on his flight suit. "Sorry," he said. "This thing tends to leak oil." Weiss swallowed and finally shook hands, then turned to Lionheart. "There's no other way?"

"Jacques Schnee is not likely to be looking for his daughter onboard what is essentially a tramp freighter, hauling flowers from the Netherlands to the United States," Lionheart told her.

"I thought there was an embargo."

"There is." Lionheart smiled. "On _scheduled_ flights. Cargo charters are another thing entirely."

"Wonderful."

"I could have Mr. Tardor drop you off in Menagerie along the way, I suppose," Lionheart said.

"No…that's all right." It had occurred to Weiss, now that she'd had a little time to think, that a Schnee seeking asylum with the Belladonnas might put the latter in danger from the White Fang. And in Japan she was likely to get her hands on a fighter. She was going to miss her beloved _Myrtenaster,_ but Winter would take good care of her, she was sure.

"You coming or not?" Rick asked. "We're a little rushed here."

"Yes, of course." Lionheart took Weiss' luggage from the back and helped her bring it aboard the An-12. The inside smelled like roses; Weiss was relieved to find that it was indeed flying a cargo of flowers. She half expected "flowers" to be a euphemism for heroin or something. He stowed her luggage next to the cargo net and a short row of backwards-facing seats. Once Lionheart made sure her luggage was secured, he headed for the crew door as Rick raised the rear ramp. "He's a good man," Lionheart told her. "You'll be safe. He…he has his own reasons for doing this."

"Thank you," Weiss said sincerely. "This means a lot to me, sir."

Lionheart waved it off. "None of it, Miss Schnee. We'll see you in Japan." He shook hands with her, then ducked out of the door. Rick came forward and slid that down. He thumbed at the cockpit. "You multi-engine qualified?"

"Jets only," Weiss sighed.

"Well, it's not too hard. C'mon." They climbed up into the cockpit. To Weiss' surprise, while it was definitely older, with a lot of round, analog instruments and dials, some modernization had been done, with modern navigation displays. Of course, there was also some exposed wiring. Rick climbed into the left seat, and Weiss took the right, and followed him in putting on a headset. "Where's the rest of the crew?" she asked him.

"You're it," Rick told her. He tapped the control wheel in front of him. "This thing may look like a pile of shit, but actually it's been modded so that one person can fly it. We won't be dogfighting with it, but it's a lot more potent than it looks." He pointed to the throttles. "I can control the engines, but it's a lot easier with a copilot."

"All right." Weiss put a hand on the throttles. She glanced downwards, into the crawlspace that led to the glassed-in navigator's station. It was empty, but she could see a M4 carbine with a M203 grenade launcher slung underneath the barrel. He followed her look. "Sometimes we land in places that aren't too trustworthy." He grinned toothily. "No sweat, Miss Schnee. This part of the flight's a milk run. We're flying from here to Gander, then Gander to Richmond—that's usually pretty safe, even by the New York Dead Zone-then from there to Dallas. We'll pick up and drop off cargo on the way. You can stay out of sight, but I doubt anyone's going to be looking for the heiress to the Schnee fortune on an An-12."

"Former heiress," Weiss corrected. "And from Dallas?"

Rick began running through his preflight. He was no longer grinning. "Well, then it gets interesting. We fly to Vegas, make the run across Old California to Hawaii. Then we hop to Guam, the Philippines, and up to Japan. The California run is the tough part."

"You've done it before?"

"Yeah. Just not in an An-12."

"Oh. What in?"

He hit the starter switches. "Let's talk about it later. For now, let's just get out of here."

Weiss let the matter drop for the moment, and helped him with the preflight. Aircraft were aircraft, and if the huge Antonov was nothing like her Eurofighter Typhoon, it was a bit like the twin-engined Cessnas her family owned and occasionally flew around in. She moved the throttles up on Rick's command, and the four turboprops coughed, whined, and then spun to life. The chocks were pulled by the airport ground crew, and they followed hand signals out to the taxiway. It took a few minutes, but they reached the runway behind a British Airways 747. The An-12 shook as the 747 took off in front of them, then it was their turn.

Weiss' heart was thudding in her chest. _Well, here I go again,_ she thought. Then she smiled. Yang and Ruby were going to get a good laugh when she turned up in an ancient Soviet transport with a cowboy as her chauffeur. He nodded to her, and she pushed the throttles up to full power. The transport rumbled with the power of the four Ivchenko turboprops, then Rick let off the brakes and they surged forward. Weiss called out the speeds, watching the instruments, then slowly, almost reluctantly, the nose gear came up from the runway. The rest of the aircraft followed, and suddenly they were flying. Rick raised the flaps as they climbed into a clear sky, with only a few clouds. Weiss glanced out of her side of the cockpit. The city of London gradually gave way to fields. Rick took them up to 20,000 feet before leveling off; Weiss pulled back power halfway. "Not exactly a fighter," he commented, the first time he'd said anything not related to flying the aircraft. "It's kind of grown on me." He tapped the control wheel. "You want to give it a try? She's a little tailheavy."

"No, that's all right."

"Suit yourself." He checked the navigation instruments, then relaxed, flying the aircraft casually with one hand. "So you're Weiss Schnee. I've heard of you."

"Nothing bad, I should hope."

He tipped back his cowboy hat. "Heard you were a good stick. What do you normally fly?"

"Typhoon."

Rick looked at her over the tops of his glasses. "Whoa, not bad. I'm an Eagle driver, normally. Used to be with the 33rd out of Eglin."

Weiss was reminded of Yang. "Quite a step down," she remarked, waving around the cockpit.

"From a '15? Yeah, but it's worth it." She gave him a look, and he laughed. "You're wondering how I ended up here. I was sheep-dipped about a year ago. You know what I mean?"

She nodded. Weiss knew the term: a sheep-dipped pilot was someone who still officially flew with an air force—in Rick Tardor's case, the USAF—but flew black ops on the behest of an intelligence agency. She remembered what Lionheart had said about an old friend of the family; she had taken that literally. Now she realized that the "family" was probably the intelligence world; Rick was working for the Central Intelligence Agency, just as Lionheart was working with MI6. "Can you tell me why?" Weiss couldn't imagine giving up being a F-15 pilot to fly what most fighter pilots referred to derisively as garbage haulers.

"My sister, mainly. She got tapped to do some sort of secret thing a few years ago. We barely saw her, and then I heard she got hurt. Nothing more, just that she was hurt. I started doing this, hoping I could find her." He shook his head. "Say, you were at Beacon, weren't you? When it all went to shit?"

Weiss leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. "That's a good description of it."

"Look, maybe you can't tell me, but there was a rumor…that my sister was at Beacon. Kind of short, brown hair, cut about neck length? Looks kind of like me?" He took off his sunglasses. He had brown eyes. Weiss examined his face, tried to jog her memory. The only pilot that was close to that description was Octavia Ember, who was Jordanian, not American.

"I don't think so; sorry," Weiss apologized. "What was her name?"

"Amber. Amber Tardor."

"No, sorry," she said again.

"Shit. Well, that's okay." He put his sunglasses back on. "Lionheart told me she got killed at Beacon. He couldn't say more, but I just wanted to…" He took a deep breath. "I just wanted to know if she went down swinging. Maybe that would make it better…I don't know."

Weiss hesitated, then reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "If she was a pilot, I would have known her. She would've been in one of the Vytal Flag flights. Lionheart might be wrong."

"Yeah…maybe." He leaned forward and put both hands on the wheel, as a radio call came in for them to climb to 22,000 feet to avoid other traffic. Weiss pulled her hand away. "Anyway, Miss Schnee, that's why I'm doing this. Same as him. If Amber _did_ die at Beacon, if someone killed her…" His jaw became set. "Then by God, I'm going to do whatever I can to kill them right back."

* * *

_Mount Yamantau_

_Ural Mountains, Russian Dead Zone_

_9 June 2001_

Salem stood at the entrance to the underground hangar, underneath the camouflaged tarp, and waited patiently as Cinder Fall taxied in the MiG-21. The engine wound down, and once the crew chief had helped her unstrap and safety the seat, Cinder climbed down, handing her helmet to him. Salem put her hands behind her back and smiled. Cinder looked tired, but not exhausted this time. "How was it?"

"Much easier this time." Cinder raised her artificial arm. "It's still painful, but I think I'm getting used to it."

"Excellent." Salem motioned for her to follow, and Cinder obeyed. To the latter's surprise, they did not enter the mountain, but instead took a path that went around the mountain, through the cool woods. Salem was quiet for awhile, and Cinder did not want to interrupt the silence; the sun through the woods was just warm enough to be pleasant, and to be honest, she needed to stretch her legs after being in the cramped cockpit of the MiG.

"I just heard from Leonardo Lionheart," Salem suddenly spoke. "It seems Weiss Schnee has escaped from her father and is heading to Japan."

"Interesting," Cinder replied, though it really wasn't, not to her. Weiss Schnee was not the member of Ruby Flight she wanted dead. "Could that complicate our plans? We could try stopping her along the way."

"No," Salem said. "She's heading to Japan through Dubai, according to Lionheart. That's a little too far south. I do have GRIMM operating in North Africa, but Schnee is not that important of a target." She detoured around a rock. "Still, it will make Jacques Schnee suspect General Ironwood of helping his daughter escape, and that can only help us. The longer that fool keeps up his embargo, the better off we are." Salem chuckled. "I'm sure all of you think of me as some sort of master planner, Cinder, but I hadn't anticipated Schnee to go that far with his political machinations. Men are so easily led." She shook her head. "No, Weiss Schnee isn't important. If she was heading anywhere near the Dead Zones in North America, then perhaps, but not through Dubai. Ah, here we are."

Salem led Cinder off the path to a lesser used one, and then past a guard who snapped to attention and saluted them both. Salem returned the salute and they walked under another gigantic camouflage tarp. To Cinder's surprise, she saw another long, camouflaged taxiway leading out to a runway, cleverly painted to look like a forest clearing. She'd flown over the area several times and never noticed it. Salem stopped and turned to her. "Tell me, Cinder, and be honest: are you satisfied with the MiG-21?"

"It's a piece of shit," Cinder said.

Salem laughed. "That's what I get when I ask for honesty." She motioned to a few ground crewmen, who hurried to something draped under a black tarp. "I hope you'll forgive my flair for the dramatic, Cinder." She raised her hand, and the men pulled away the tarp.

At first, Cinder thought it was a F-15, by the size, intakes, and twin tails, then a F-18, by the nose. Then she realized it was neither. The nose was long and stood high on a stalklike forward landing gear, to slope backwards to the slanted intakes and a wide fuselage. The tails rose above twin engines; a huge rearward-facing radar stabbed backwards from the tails. Ventral fins dropped below the tails. It was painted in three shades of blue that would be hard to see against a sky, or an ocean.

"That's…that's impressive," Cinder said, finding her voice. "What is it?"

"After the rockets stopped flying in the Third World War, there were many Soviet aircraft design teams that survived. Most were from the Sukhoi bureau. Of those, many fled to India, where they started producing MiGs for them. A few, however, made their way here; I've lured others back. As I said, men, and women, are so easily led. I've had them producing GRIMM, of course—I rather like that Western codename—but they've also been working on advanced manned fighters as well. As the West fields fighters to take on my GRIMM, such as the F-15 and the F-22, we've had to do so as well." Salem motioned her forward, and they stood next to the nose. "The designers refer to this as the Su-27—it's a fighter, hence the odd number, and the 27th design they've produced since World War II. Designers like their continuity. I've heard some of them call it a 'Flanker,' since they believe it will flank anything that flies, like a cavalry charge flanking an assault column. I suppose designers like their fanciful names as well." She ran two fingers along the fighter's nose. "It also has DUST, provided by the late, great Roman Torchwick." Salem turned and smiled, like a wolf who had just realized prey was available and bleeding. "And it's all yours, Cinder."

"Oh my," Cinder said, with a feral grin. "What I can do with this."


	19. Bang Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake and Sun go shopping...or is it more than that? Neither will have the chance to find out, because someone's recognized Blake. Someone from Blake's past...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An all-Blake chapter-more or less the "Blake Character Short," but leading up to a few things later on that aren't in canon RWBY...

_Glasgow_

_Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_10 June 2001_

Blake Belladonna ran her hands over the scarf. She didn't quite recognize the tartan; it was all green and blue, with thin red stripes. The shopkeeper, an elderly Faunus with a cat tail, walked up to her. "May I help you, Miss?" She smiled. "It's a lovely scarf, so it is." Her voice held the burr of a Highlands Scottish accent.

"Which tartan is this?" Blake asked.

"Gunn. If you don't mind me asking, miss, what is your clan—or do you have one?"

Blake shook her head. "I'm afraid not. My last name is Belladonna."

The older Faunus nodded. "Blake Belladonna. I thought I recognized you." She held up a finger. "I'll be right back." She was gone for a moment, and returned with another scarf. The tartan was slightly darker, with different hues. "Black Watch tartan. As close as I can get to your name."

Blake chuckled. "You're trying to get me to buy this?"

"Aye. Is it working?"

"It sure is." Blake pulled three other scarfs off the rack—the yellow of Clan McLeod, the red of Stewart, and the white of Erskine. "I'll take all of these."

* * *

Blake left the shop, a few pounds poorer, but considered the cost worth it. Sun Wukong was waiting patiently for her. Both had left the Belladonna Lodge a few hours before, both attempting to fool the other into thinking it was for mutual protection, rather than just wanting to be with a friend. "What did you get?" he asked.

"Scarves."

"Scarves?" Sun asked. "It's a Scottish clan shop! You didn't buy any broadswords or anything?"

Blake rolled her eyes. "No, Sun, I didn't buy any claymores. Besides, I can't lift them." Her father had one in his study, and Blake had nearly thrown out her back trying to life it one time.

"Well, _I_ can," Sun said, and flexed for her. Blake couldn't help but snicker. Despite there being a slight chill in the air—a cold front had rolled in the night before—Sun still had his shirt unbuttoned to his chest. His abs were not on display, but his pectorals were enough to arrest female passerby. "Scarves. It's summer. Girls are weird."

"Boys are weirder," Blake returned. "What did you get?"

"Nothing so far. Nothing's really jumped out and said 'buy me'."

Blake motioned up the street. "About three blocks up is a nice little model shop."

Sun's eyes lit up. Rare was the fighter pilot that wasn't a model builder of some kind. "Now you're talking!" She laughed and led him up the street. Sun took a chance and gently took her hand. Blake didn't stop him.

They had gone about a block when Blake suddenly stopped. Sun saw her ears flatten back. "What's wrong?"

She turned away to look into the windows of a candy shop, dragging him with her. "Don't look," she warned in a low voice. "Eleven o'clock level. Leopard Faunus."

Sun leaned forward, as if to inspect the shop's wares. He spotted the Faunus in the reflection. "Tally-ho. What about him?"

"He's White Fang. Not the Albain Brothers White Fang either."

"The 'I hate everybody' White Fang?" Blake nodded. "Okay. What do we do?"

That was a good question, Blake asked herself. They couldn't exactly arrest him; they weren't police. There was a knife in her boot, but she wasn't going to simply murder the Faunus. She knew he'd murdered quite a few humans in his time, but those crimes had not taken place in Menagerie.

"You think he's up to no good?" Sun asked.

Blake watched the Faunus. He was shopping, the same as them, looking at fresh bread in a bakery. She checked around a little more, falling back on skills she'd learned in the White Fang, on covert operations, and in the Marines, where everyone was a rifleman. There was no one else that she could see; no obvious tails or attempts to box her in. She glanced at the leopard again. He was buying a loaf of pumpernickel. She relaxed. He was not here to kill her. "I guess not." She looked down. "Sorry, Sun. Guess I'm getting paranoid."

"Understandable."

"Let's go." They started walking again. Blake didn't make eye contact as they walked past the leopard, though she kept him in her peripheral vision. The other Faunus paid for the bread, turned, and looked straight at her. Blake slowed down. He cocked his head to one side, as if trying to place her. Then she saw recognition spread on his face. "Oh shit," she breathed, as he dropped his bag of bread, reached into his short jacket, and pulled out a pistol.

Sun had been watching the leopard as well. "Down!" he shouted, even before he realized Blake was already dropping to the street. He dived behind a pretzel cart as the first shot sang out. It missed; the second ricocheted across the cobblestoned pavement as Blake rolled behind a car. The crowded shopping area quickly scattered, with screams and cursing. She grabbed her knife, knowing that the police were minutes away when seconds now counted.

The leopard wasn't interested in killing her, however. Instead, he turned and fled back the way they came. At that point, Blake did something rather foolish: she jumped to her feet and ran after him. "Wait, Blake, dammit!" Sun yelled, then tore off after her.

The leopard Faunus was fast, but the press of the crowd slowed him down. Occasionally, he glanced over his shoulder. In a flat out race, the leopard would have outdistanced both Blake and Sun. In the obstacle course the street was during a busy shopping day, Blake and Sun had the advantage, using their natural agility to leap over carts or slide between groups of Faunus; they quickly closed the distance. Blake turned the knife in her hand to grip it by the blade, preparing to throw it once she got close enough.

The Faunus turned, pointed the gun first at Sun, then at Blake. Others in the crowd saw the weapon, and there were more screams. He fired at Blake, a hasty shot that missed by a mile. She drew back and threw the knife across her body. It sank into the leopard's left shoulder, and she cursed; she'd been aiming for the right, which would probably force him to drop the gun. Instead, all it did was throw off his aim. His next shot was aimed at Sun, but instead another Faunus yelled and went down, clutching a leg that was gushing blood.

"Sun, help him!" Blake shouted. The leopard turned, pointed the gun at her, and pulled the trigger, only for nothing to happen, not even a click of an empty magazine. _He's jammed the pistol,_ Blake observed clinically. He threw the gun at her, missed, and started running again. He turned into an alley as Blake slid to a halt and then followed. In the distance, she could hear police sirens.

At the end of the alley was an eight foot wall. The leopard jumped and grabbed hold with his right arm, but didn't have enough strength with his left to pull himself over the wall. "Stop!" Blake yelled. "It's over!" She suddenly remembered his name. "That's enough, Colin! That's enough!"

Then she sensed movement from above. Blake leapt backwards as a figure dropped from a windowsill a story above her. The figure dropped to a crouch. Blake instantly recognized it as Ilia Amitola. She was dressed casually, except for the White Fang mask that covered half her face. And the automatic she held in one hand, pointed at Blake. Ilia slowly rose, the gun still pointed. Behind her, Colin finally was able to scrabble up and over the wall.

They stood for a moment. Blake stared at her former friend. "Go ahead and shoot," she told Ilia. "You've got me, Ilia. You're pointing the gun. Shoot me." The barrel of the pistol looked huge, but Blake forced herself to be calm. She tensed, getting ready to dodge, but one part of her didn't care. "Dammit, Ilia, _shoot me!"_ she shouted, all the frustration and rage of their broken friendship in her voice. The chameleon girl flinched. Her exposed skin suddenly turned blue, and she walked backwards to the wall before turning and jumping over it in one fluid motion.

Blake stood in the alley for a few minutes, unsure. Sun finally came pounding around the corner, puffing. "That Faunus dude is going to be okay," he assured her. "Where's that asshole?"

She turned away from the wall. "He got away," she sighed.

* * *

_Lecket Hill_

_North of Glasgow, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_10 June 2001_

In a movie, the headquarters of the White Fang would be an elaborate, underground base, beneath a mountain. In reality, it was a rather large Scottish hunting lodge, dating to the 17th Century, made of dressed stone and with an interior of wood so old it was polished. Originally, the White Fang leadership had met at the Belladonna Lodge. After Sienna Khan had taken it over, the organization had moved to Lecket Hill. The Menagerie government knew its location. The British government knew its location, enough that the Special Air Service had built a mockup at their Wales training area and regularly practiced storming it. Neither moved, since in Menagerie the White Fang was still a legal organization, and the British were afraid of enraging the Faunus. Sienna still had the place guarded: in the trees lining the path to Lecket Hill, there were at least a platoon of White Fang operatives on duty all the time.

In what had been the dining hall where hunters would gather after a stag hunt, the White Fang leadership would meet. Behind her back, it was referred to as Sienna's throne room. Certainly it fit the part: at the end of the table was a high-backed chair with crowns of the English and Scottish royal houses carved into it. On either side of the chair, Sienna would usually have one or two of her burliest guards posted. Where stag heads had once adorned the walls, now there were the blood-red banners of the White Fang: a stylized white cat's head with claws slashed across it.

Sienna walked into the room and took her throne, settling her cape around her and pulling one leg up to the other knee. Around the table sat the Albain brothers, Corsac and Fennec; Ilia Amitola; Colin Armbruster—his shoulder wrapped in a bandage; and Adam Taurus. The White Fang might be legal, but Adam Taurus was a wanted man, even here. Luckily, it was quite easy to slip into Menagerie. He'd landed Moonslice at the supposedly abandoned RAF base at Lossiemouth, and drove down.

"My apologies for being late," Sienna began. "It seems Ghira Belladonna has managed yet another procedural issue to delay me from talking directly to the Menagerie Council. He's out of town, it seems."

"In London, last we heard," Corsac supplied. "We're not sure why."

"I can answer that," Ilia said. She folded her hands in front of her. "Ghira went to Vauxhall Cross."

Sienna rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Wonderful. MI6."

"They can't move against us up here," Fennec assured her. "The British government won't allow them to interfere with the internal government workings of Menagerie."

"No, but if Ghira went to MI6, he's working an angle. Any idea what it might be, Ilia?"

"I don't know, High Leader."

Sienna sighed. "A shame Blake Belladonna is no longer one of us." She carefully watched both Ilia and Adam Taurus. Ilia's skin darkened just a shade, just the tiniest hint of blue that no one would have noticed if they were not looking for it. To her surprise, Adam remained passive, sitting almost lazily in his chair.

"She would have never betrayed her father," Ilia was saying. "Not even when she was part…part of us."

_Poor Ilia,_ Sienna thought. _Blake will always be your blind spot._ "Well, I suppose we'll learn soon enough what good old Ghira is up to." She turned to Fennec. "What news do you have from Edinburgh?"

Fennec shrugged. "Nothing good, High Leader. Charles Tabey has recovered from his bout with influenza."

Sienna soured. "Dammit. Can nothing kill that bloody old bastard?"

"Will that complicate your plans to stand for his seat in the fall elections, High Leader?" Corsac asked.

"No. We're playing the long game here. He still plans to step down. I hope."

"What about the attack on Haven? Will these _political_ machinations affect that?" Adam finally spoke. He said the word political like it was a horrible oath.

Sienna shook her head. "I see no reason why it would. Tabey and my Council seat aren't related to the Haven operation." She pointed at Armbruster. "No offense to you, Colin, but I'm not prepared to discuss that operation with someone who is not cleared for it."

It was Adam that answered. "No offense taken, High Leader. But before we speak any further about the Haven operation, I think Colin has something to say."

The leopard Faunus opened his mouth to speak, but Sienna raised a hand. "If this is about the shooting in the market this afternoon, I'm already aware of it. It was on the news."

Adam nodded. "Was it on the news that Blake Belladonna was the one who stabbed poor Colin here?"

Sienna's eyes flicked to Ilia, who also gave her a nod. "I was able to hold her off until we were able to escape, High Leader, but yes, Blake was the one who stabbed Colin. Threw the knife, actually."

"I see." Sienna shrugged. "So? Wrong place, wrong time." She looked to Colin. "Why did you open fire into the crowd, Colin?"

He shrugged. "I'm sorry, High Leader. I panicked. I thought Blake and that other one—the monkey—I thought they were going to arrest me."

"For what?" Adam asked. "Had you done something wrong?"

"Well, no. As I said, I panicked," Colin admitted. "The gun I had was illegally owned, but—"

"Are Blake Belladonna and Sun Wukong law enforcement officers?" Adam pressed him.

"No, Adam."

"So there was no reason to draw a weapon and open fire on them, was there?"

Colin swallowed nervously. "No."

Adam slid back his chair and got up. He put one hand behind his back and another on the hilt of his sword. "Why were you carrying a gun in the Glasgow market, Colin?" He began to pace up and down that side of the table.

"Well, it was for personal safety."

"Ah. I've been away from Menagerie for awhile. Has the crime rate rose in Glasgow since I was in America, to the point where a pistol is needed in the main shopping district, in broad daylight?" When there was no answer, Adam stopped pacing. "That was not a rhetorical question, Colin."

"No," Colin admitted.

"So why did you need the gun?" Adam began pacing again. Colin opened his mouth, looked to Sienna, then closed it. Adam stopped behind him and leaned on the back of the chair. "Were you there to kill Blake Belladonna, Colin?"

"N-No!" Colin exclaimed. "No, I swear, Adam! I wasn't there to kill anyone!"

Sienna uncrossed her legs and slammed a palm down on the table. Adam's hand had tightened noticeably on the grip of Wilt. "Adam, enough! How would Colin have even _known_ Blake was going to be at the market today? We have no one following her."

Adam turned to her, puzzlement on his face. Sienna couldn't be sure if it was real or faked. "We don't?"

"No," Sienna replied. "She's too damned knowlegeable about how we operate. She'd spot a tail in minutes."

Adam paused, then nodded. "That is true. She was one of our best, wasn't she? She would spot a tail…unless the tail couldn't be seen." He looked directly at Ilia. "Strange that you were there to 'hold off' Blake, Ilia."

Ilia stared back for a moment, then shrugged. "All right, _fine_. Yes, I was following Blake. I think it's wise we do so. She knows we're up to something, after she tagged me at the Belladonna Lodge the other day." She glared at Adam, hating him. "But if you think for a second that I—"

It was Adam who raised a hand this time. "No, no, Ilia. You're the last person I would suspect of trying to kill Blake." He shifted his gaze to Colin. "Still, even if you weren't there to kill anyone, Colin—and I apologize, but I do not believe you—you opened fire into a crowd of other Faunus, wounding one. Blake undoubtedly recognized you; others may have as well. Opening fire in a crowded area…not something to help our reputation, is it?" Adam stepped back. Wilt slid out of its sheath silently.

Colin was sweating, and he put his head in his hands. "Please. I didn't mean to. I was scared—"

"Stop!" Sienna commanded. Adam had drawn his sword back to stab through the chair and Colin's back. "No, Adam." Colin almost collapsed. He'd heard Adam step back. Sienna looked at the leopard Faunus, then shook her head in pity. "Not here. I don't want blood to get all over this table. We eat here." She inclined her head at the entrance. "Take him outside." She motioned at her guards, who stepped forward, pulled Colin weeping from the chair, and dragged him towards the front door. She then looked to Adam. "Did you want to do the honors?"

Adam sheathed Wilt. "Why not? I do need the practice." He smiled and followed the guard out the door.

Sienna turned to Ilia. "If you don't mind, Ilia, follow him and make sure Adam kills Colin on the grass. The last thing we need is a bloodstain on the landing, too." Ilia bowed her head, got up, and left, leaving her with the Albains.

"He's still sensitive about the Belladonna girl, isn't he?" Corsac commented.

"As is Ilia," Fennec finished.

"We all have our blind spots," Sienna said. "But Adam is right. Colin was an incompetent, and we're better off without him. And I did want them out of the room for a moment." She raised her voice. "You can come in now."

The door in the back of the hall opened as Sienna continued to speak. "Between you and me, I'm tired of waiting for Charles Tabey to shuffle off his mortal coil. So I've decided to give him a little push." A woman walked up to the table. She was human, which took the Albains back—it was very rare for a human to be allowed into Lecket Hill. She was also remarkably short, with long hair outlandishly divided into pink and brown—the same color as her eyes. She carried an umbrella over her shoulder. "Would you like to introduce yourself, Miss?"

"Neo Politan," she smiled.


	20. Glass Menagerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Weiss makes her way back to the US, Sienna meets with Charles Tabey for his support. She's in for a surprise...but so is he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter than usual, but the next chapter is Yang getting back in the air with her new F-23, and that's going to be a dogfight scene. That would've made it much longer, so instead we get a little more political intrigue, we catch up with Weiss a bit, and an addition to the "cast." (Yeah, I know many of you are just here for the airplanes, but we've got to have some stuff in between.)

_Near Long Island_

_New York Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_10 June 2001_

Weiss woke to the thunderous noise of the An-12's four turboprops. The Antonov was considered the Soviet Union's version of the C-130 Hercules, and apparently both shared the same design feature: they were loud as hell on the inside. She was surprised she'd slept at all. Then she looked at her watch, and her eyes widened: she'd slept for twelve hours.

She rolled out of the hammock lashed to the side of the fuselage and sniffed; she didn't smell very good. She was still wearing the same clothes she'd left Schnee Manor in two days ago. Failing to stifle a huge yawn, she stumbled up to the cockpit, where Rick Tardor sat, flying the aircraft. He saw her come in. "Evening," he said. The light from the setting sun flooded the cockpit.

"Good evening," she returned, and yawned again. "Where are we?"

"Just made the turn around Cape Cod. Should be landing in Harrisburg in about an hour or so."

Weiss leaned against the copilot's seat. "You mean, we've already been to Gander?"

"Yep. Been and gone. You were out like a light, so I didn't wake you up. Don't worry; all they did was fuel up. I grabbed a nap myself." He pointed down into the navigator's station. "Not the most comfortable of spots, but I manage."

"I would've given up the hammock."

Tardor shook his head with a smile. "It's all good, Miss Schnee."

"Weiss," she corrected. "Call me Weiss."

"I think I'd better call you Miss Schnee. Let's keep it professional." He winked, to show her it was nothing personal. "You want to climb down there? We've got pretty good visibility today. Might be able to see what's left of Manhattan."

"No thanks." Weiss climbed into the copilot's seat. "I've been over New York before." She'd actually seen it when she'd flown _Myrtenaster_ from Germany to Beacon. In the Third World War, New York had been hit by three two-megaton Soviet nuclear missiles. Due to the poor targeting of missiles at the time, the Soviets had actually missed Manhattan: one missile had fallen into Long Island Sound, and the other two detonated over Brooklyn and Queens. It hadn't made much of a difference: the shockwaves had blown the tops off of every skyscraper in Manhattan, and the heat pulses had done the rest. Over four million people had died. Radiation had spread across New England, and those who didn't die from that—or the tidal wave caused by the Long Island detonation that flooded the coastal cities of Connecticut—fled north to Maine or west to upstate New York. Then the GRIMM came a few years later. Weiss had read somewhere that the American government estimated that less than twenty percent of New Yorkers alive in January 1962 were still alive by January 1967. The Americans had returned to New York in the less irradiated areas, mainly to salvage the ruins, but reported it as a haunted place, overgrown and dilapidated, and ruled by packs of wild animals. There was a memorial to Jacqueline Kennedy and her children in what had been Central Park, and the Empire State Building still stood, its spire gone—New York City's gravestone. Just thinking about it gave Weiss chills.

Those chills weren't helped a moment later when the radio crackled. Rick leaned forward and adjusted the gain. "It's on Guard." He fiddled with the switches a bit more, clearing up the static. Then it came through, loud and clear.

"Mayday, mayday, Pilgrim Airlines Flight 1014! We are under attack! Our escort is down, repeat, our escort is down! We are under attack by GRIMM! Any station, please respond!"

Rick shook his head. "Pilgrim Airlines. A commuter flight from Portland to New Albany. Sounds like they lost their escort. Poor bastards." The message repeated itself, giving their position. Weiss looked at the navigation display: Flight 1014 was forty miles north of them. No one was responding. There was the sound of an explosion, and Pilgrim Airlines Flight 1014's last transmission was cut off.

"Give me some power, Miss Schnee." She reached down and ran up the throttles. Rick nodded and began turning the heavy transport to the left, further out into the Atlantic. He checked the fuel. "We're going to cut into our reserve, but we should make it."

"We're not going to help?" Weiss asked.

"No way. I'm trying to avoid them."

"But they'll die!" Weiss blurted.

"They're already dead. Besides, what are we supposed to do in this old crate? We're not in your Typhoon or my '15."

"No shit," Weiss growled. "But we could act as a communications relay—"

"And get our ass shot off by the GRIMM, and then we'd be trying to crashland in a dead zone!" Rick shot back. "Look, Miss Schnee, I hate it too. But we go over there, and we're dead too. Got it?" He tightened the turn a little more. "Sorry. My bird, my rules."

Weiss sighed. He was right, of course. The An-12 was no dogfighter. They would just add to the body count. She stared out into the setting sun, feeling as helpless as she had in her father's house.

* * *

_Princes Street Gardens_

_Edinburgh, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_11 June 2001_

"Ah, Sienna." The ancient Faunus rose from his seat at the fountain, and kissed Sienna Khan's hand. "It is always a pleasure to see you."

"Sir Charles," she bowed respectfully to him. "The pleasure is all mine."

Sir Charles Tabey smiled, revealing a mouth of teeth that were too perfect—not surprising, since they were false. There were very few "original Faunus" left; the minority that had survived the GRIMM Wars in Europe had mostly passed on, their lives shortened by the fighting and the stress of surviving a world that didn't want them. Tabey was one of the exceptions: starting off as a foot soldier in Nicholas Schnee's army, rising to a position of leadership through sheer skill, helping to found Menagerie, then building a business empire based on North Sea oil. He was bent over, his ears drooping over his gray hair, and took Sienna's arm to steady himself, but she was under no illusions: Tabey might be physically frail, but he was mentally as sharp as ever, and still every bit the ruthless businessman that would crush any and all opposition. He'd been one of the White Fang's earliest supporters, when Ghira Belladonna was running it—the two Faunus disliked each other, but they were willing to be allies of convenience. Sienna felt the same way about Tabey. It was an alliance that had paid off handsomely.

"So, what brings you all the way to Edinburgh?" Tabey asked, although he already knew.

Sienna dodged the question. "Are you sure you feel like walking? We could stay by the fountain. Maybe you should rest."

Tabey laughed, and motioned with his cane at Edinburgh Castle, rising above the park on a knoll. It dominated the city, and it was Tabey's home. "My dear, rest will come all too soon for me. I want to stay active as much as I can while I'm still above ground."

"I'm glad to hear you recovered from the flu."

Tabey suddenly looked at her. The jade eyes were sunken, the eyes crinkled with age and pain, but they blazed with an intensity that made even Sienna miss a step. "Sienna. Are you going to tell me why you're here, or are you going to continue to pretend I'm an old fool?"

Sienna smiled thinly. "Nothing gets past you, Sir Charles."

"Plenty gets past me, Sienna. Just not things in my backyard."

"I'll be presenting my evidence to the Council tomorrow," Sienna said. "Ghira Belladonna has been delaying it, but he's out of tricks now."

Tabey nodded. "He's gathering evidence against you, my dear. Rather disturbing evidence, mind." He looked at her again. "I've heard the rumors, that you were at Beacon, and led the White Fang attack."

Sienna shook her head. "Preposterous. I'm not a fighter."

"Your combat record in the Fourth Indo-Pakistan War would seem to disagree." He laughed. It was more of a cackle, the laugh of a vastly amused old man. "Oh yes, I know about that, Sienna. I know who trained you. Why do you think I supported you taking over after Ghira stepped down?"

"Then…" Sienna paused. "Then you knew I would take the White Fang in a more, ah, militaristic direction?"

"Mm." He stopped for a moment, popped his knee, and continued. "Of course. Ghira's approach to equal rights was sound, but it was often too kind. Too nice to the humans. I saw in you the fire of youth, what I once had, and the willingness to make the humans notice us. Even if it meant violence. That made the humans take us more seriously, which was of enormous help to me."

Sienna was shocked. She had always known Charles Tabey was a shrewd politician, and a man without scruples—but she thought she was using him to gain her own power. It never occurred to her that he might be using her. "I…didn't think you approved."

"I do…to a point." His hand gripped her arm with surprising strength. "Attacking the Schnees? That's one thing. The occasional heist, the occasional raid, even the occasional assassination. I can understand that. But an attack on the scale of Beacon?" Tabey shook his head. "That was foolish, my dear. Damned foolish."

"I didn't attack Beacon," Sienna insisted. "That was Adam Taurus. I cautioned him against it, because it would invite the wrath of the American government, and others. He regards them as paper tigers. And while I admit their lack of response has proven him right, I too did not approve of an attack on that scale. We lost many people there."

Tabey waited until he was finished, and laughed. "Adam is more skilled than I thought. He can even disguise his voice as yours." He smiled up at her. "It was you, Sienna. I know your voice. So do many others. You're still free here, in Menagerie, because you've managed to fool some of the people all of the time. But you have badly overplayed your hand when you made that broadcast."

Sienna stopped walking, bringing the older Faunus up short. "I am presenting evidence to the Menagerie Council tomorrow that it was Adam Taurus. Not me."

"Mm. And Ghira will be presenting evidence that it was _you._ " Tabey sighed. "Sienna, a word of advice from an old, dying Faunus. There are things out there that you never want to see. Never want to even think about. You have allied the White Fang with one of those things, and it will be the death of us."

"Do you mean Adam?" Sienna asked.

"No. Something worse than him. Far worse." He withdrew his arm from hers, and leaned on his cane. "You showed promise, Sienna. Great promise. I was willing to overlook your zeal for the cause of Faunus, and have you take my seat at the Council after I step down in three months. But now I see that I was wrong."

"You can't do this," Sienna protested. "What about the White Fang?"

"What about them? Goodbye, Sienna. My advice is to find a very deep hole, and put yourself in it. Once the Council disavows you, then it will be open season on the White Fang—you, Adam, and all the others. If the British don't get you, the Americans will."

Sienna's lips drew back in a snarl. "The Council will support me, you old fool."

Tabey cackled again. "The odd thing is, Sienna, that they just might. But they will not when _I_ vote against you. Ghira and I will easily sway the others—Ghira, with his rather forceful personality, and I, with my rather substantial money." He smiled humorlessly. "Faunus are so easily led. It's one of our fundamental flaws." He turned his back on her and walked away. She watched him disappear behind a stand of woods.

* * *

As Tabey drew even with a pond, he noticed a young Faunus female standing on the side, feeding the ducks. Not for the first time today, he wished he was younger: she was quite attractive, with hair so blond it was almost white, and cat ears poking out of the hair. His eyes dropped to her legs: it was a warm day, and she was wearing a short skirt. She noticed him, and smiled politely; he was surprised to see her eyes were pink—an albino. Such Faunus were quite rare. She turned to say something, but her umbrella slipped out of where she had leaned it against herself, came up and hit him in the shin, point first. Tabey winced in pain.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" she said, pulling the umbrella back. "Are you all right, sir?"

Tabey massaged his shin. It hurt a little, but far less than his other hurts. "I'm all right, my dear. No harm done."

She shook her head. "No, sir, it was my fault. Can I help you? Call an ambulance?"

Tabey laughed. "For a mere poke? Please, young miss. I'm not so old that an umbrella will kill me." He kissed her hand. "Seeing your beauty makes up for the pain."

She looked down at her white boots. "I'm very sorry, sir."

Tabey patted her hand, winked at her, took one last admiring look at her legs, and began walking away. He returned her wave as he turned the corner, taking the long path to his castle.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Sienna came up to the albino, still feeding the ducks. "I saw that. Well done, Neo. What did you do?"

Neo did not look at her. "Ricin," she said casually. "I injected him with it when I hit him with my umbrella. The symptoms are identical to a heart attack. He'll be dead by morning."

Sienna nodded. "A heart attack brought on by overextertion. Poor man. He shouldn't be climbing up to his castle at his age." Neo shrugged. "Very well." Sienna knelt, picked up some crumbs of bread, and threw them to the ducks as well. "What do I owe you? I understand your usual fee is substantial, but I will happily pay it. Swiss bank account?"

"No," Neo said, her casual tone gone entirely. "I only want two things. The first is an airplane. A fighter." She stretched and put the umbrella under her arm. "The White Fang can't get me a Typhoon, but a Hawk will do nicely."

Sienna did not nod, but dipped her fingers in the water. The ducks began to drift away. "A Hawk should be no trouble. What's the other thing?"

"I want to know where Cinder Fall is." Neo turned and walked away before Sienna could answer.

* * *

_Yokosuka Naval Hospital_

_Naval Base Yokosuka, Yokosuka, Japan_

_11 June 2001_

"Uncle Qrow!" Ruby Rose exclaimed happily. She practically skipped into the hospital room and went to hug him, but Qrow waved her off. "Easy, kiddo," he warned her. "Still not healed up yet." He looked past her and saw Pyrrha Nikos standing in the hallway. He nodded to her, and Pyrrha stepped hesitantly through the door. "Hello again," she chirped.

Ruby settled for squeezing his hand so hard it hurt. "So glad to see you're feeling better, Uncle Qrow. I came by day before yesterday, but you were still pretty groggy."

"Is everything all right?" Pyrrha asked.

Qrow nodded. "Oh yeah. Some internal bleeding, but nothing major. I should be out of here in a day or two." He downplayed it. Actually, the doctor had told him, once Qrow was out of surgery and lucid, another two hours and Qrow would've been dead. But he figured his niece didn't need to know that. "How's my Nighthawk? I hear you were flying it."

Pyrrha took a chair. Both she and Ruby were in uniform; Qrow noticed that Pyrrha was now wearing the dark blue of the USAF, rather than the lighter blue of the Greek Hellenic Air Force. "It's being repaired. I'm afraid I wasn't able to do much with it, as it was badly damaged." She gave a hesitant smile. "In any case, my F-22 should be ready to go soon as well."

"And _Crescent Rose_ is already fixed!" Ruby added. "Took her up this morning. It was great." She squeezed his hand again. "Sorry I wasn't here more. They've been debriefing the hell out of us. I don't know if you know, but…" Ruby smiled, which felt to Qrow like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "…we captured a GRIMM."

Qrow's eyebrows rose. "You're shitting me."

"Nope! That Nuckalevee! We got it intact. Turns out its self-destruct system doesn't work any more, because it was so old."

"Unfortunately," Pyrrha said, "it's also so old that it doesn't really tell us much about modern GRIMM. It's at least 20 years out of date. It even still has vaccuum tubes." She shrugged. "But it's better than nothing, I suppose."

"Pyrrha!" Ruby whined. "Quit being such a party pooper! We captured a frigging GRIMM!"

"Sorry," Pyrrha apologized.

"Glad to see it worked out." Qrow reached up and tousled Ruby's hair. "Ya did good, kid. Your mama would be damn proud."

Ruby's smile faded a little, and she glanced at Pyrrha. Pyrrha caught the look, and knew the reason why. "Well," she announced, standing up, "I should be going. Ren and Nora are going shopping in Tokyo today, and I promised them I would tag along." Qrow knew forced cheer when he heard it. "Good to see you're doing better, Major Branwen."

"Thanks, Pyrrha." She nodded and left, closing the door behind her. Qrow raised an eyebrow at Ruby. "Why did you want her out of here?"

"Well…this." Ruby reached into a pocket and handed Qrow the piece of paper she had found at Kuroyuri, the one written by Summer Rose. Qrow read it twice, then leaned back against the pillow. "Son of a bitch. So she made it that far," he breathed. He reached up and wiped away a tear. "We thought maybe she went down over the Sea of Japan, but maybe…maybe she got into Siberia after all."

"Siberia?" Ruby leaned closer. "Uncle Qrow…can you tell me what Mom was doing?"

He shrugged. "It's top secret, but Oz is dead, so I might as well." He touched her hair again, this time more gently. "Summer volunteered to look for Salem's base. We think it's somewhere in old Russia. Summer flew from Alaska to South Korea. Then she flew northeast to hook back into Siberian airspace. We…we figured that GRIMM got her over the Sea of Japan, like I said." He shook his head, with a sad smile. "But not Short Stack. Your mama was too damn good to get tagged out by GRIMM. And if she made it to Kuroyuri…"

"Do you think maybe the Nuckalevee got her?"

"I doubt it. We searched that area after she disappeared." He looked pained. "Then again, we managed to miss a damn steel monster that was twenty feet tall, so I guess it's possible we missed a crash site. But I really think Summer _did_ make it to Siberia." Suddenly, he grabbed Ruby's hand and held it tight enough to hurt. "Ruby, don't you even _think_ about hopping in your '16 and following her. Maybe when I'm healed up and Reaper Flight is ready—and maybe not even then. We've sent multiple flights over Siberia, and none of them have come back."

"Why did Mom go alone?" Ruby asked.

"She convinced Oz that the GRIMM might not think a single plane was a threat." He gripped her hand enough that Ruby pulled free, her hand aching. "Dammit, Ruby. Don't you fucking disobey me. That's an order. You are _not_ going to look for Summer on your own. I've already had to bury your mom in an empty grave, and we damn near had to bury your sister. If your papa loses you, it'll kill him. And Yang." He stabbed a finger in her face. "You get killed, Ruby, and I _will_ kick your ass in hell for the next two thousand years."

Ruby chuckled. "Okay, Uncle Qrow. I promise." In actuality, Ruby had not considered flying into Siberia alone. It would truly be a suicide mission. There was no place to refuel, no place to replenish any weapons stores, nothing. She wondered if Qrow was still holding back. _Or maybe even he doesn't know. Mom might've kept it from him, her and Ozpin. She wouldn't have gone off on a suicide mission, though—not with little me, Yang, and Dad at home._ She looked at the note again.

"At least it's something," Qrow said.

"Yeah," Ruby sighed.

There was a knock on the door. "Pyrrha must've forgot something," Ruby suggested.

Qrow raised his voice. "C'mon in!"

The door opened, but it was not Pyrrha, nor Ren or Nora. Instead, it was a young man, about Ruby's age and height, with skin slightly tanned by a lot of exposure to sunlight, but not enough to hide freckles. He was dressed in US Navy khakis, with only two medals, but golden wings pinned above them, and the single golden bar of an ensign on both lapels. Ruby noticed his green eyes, which were kind of strange looking, with flecks of gold in them. He looked a little familiar…and kind of cute, she found herself thinking. "Excuse me," the ensign asked, "I'm looking for Major Qrow Branwen?"

Qrow sat up in bed. "That's me."

The ensign's hand came up to salute, then remembered he was indoors, and instead just came to attention. "Major Branwen, sir. I am to report to you." He glanced at Ruby, noticed her rank, and her name embossed on its small board. "Captain Rose. Sorry to interrupt."

Qrow's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Report to me? Who the hell are you, pipsqueak?" He was being rather disrespectful—superior officers were not supposed to refer to subordinates as pipsqueaks—but Qrow was so surprised that anyone would be reporting to him that he forgot about the proprieties of military rank. Not that he made it a point to remember in the first place.

The ensign didn't seem to notice the insult. "Sir. I'm Ensign Oscar Pine, sir."

Qrow stared, popeyed. "You're shitting me," he said for the second time in ten minutes.

"No, sir. I am not shitting you, sir."

Ruby looked from her uncle to this Oscar person, and then back. "Who is he?" she wanted to know. Qrow began to laugh. He gripped his side in pain, but kept laughing. "Uncle Qrow!" Ruby exclaimed.

Qrow stopped laughing, but was still grinning. "Captain Ruby Rose, this is Ensign Oscar Pine," he rather unnecessarily introduced. "He's Captain Oscar Ozpin's son."

Ruby's eyes widened. She stood up, took two steps forward, and looked Oscar up and down. He was still at attention, but looked back uncomfortably. She finished her inspection, then turned back to her uncle. "You're shitting me," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neo's subtle attack on Charles Tabey is based on a real incident (possibly more than one), where a KGB assassin killed a defector with an umbrella tip laced with ricin. Pyrrha's reference to the Nuckalevee using vaccuum tubes is a reference to the West learning that the MiG-25 Foxbat-which was supposed to be an unstoppable fighter-still used vaccuum tube technology at a time when the West had been using solid-state electronics for a decade. (The Russians weren't doing that just to be primitive: it gave the Foxbat enough sheer radar power to "burn through" jamming.)
> 
> I kind of apologize for the NYC infodump, but it's too easy to forget in this story sometimes (I know I forget it!) that this world of Remnant has been through a nuclear exchange. I used Nukemap online to determine casualties and damage, and it's staggering. And the Soviets really did have 2-megaton warheads on their missiles in Cuba. I borrowed a bit from the movie and novel "Fail-Safe," in which JFK's wife and children are in New York when it gets nuked.


	21. Information High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang's feeling pretty confident, now that she's got a F-23 to play with. But in her first bit of air combat, is she really recovered from her fight with Adam?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much a Yang chapter, and finally some air combat again! It was getting too long without it. This is "On RWBY Wings," after all, not "RWBY Political Intrigue." There's a little Weiss here too, and originally Blake was going to make an appearance over in Menagerie-but that'll have to wait until next chapter.
> 
> Stole a little from Top Gun in this chapter. I'm not sorry.

_Signal Air Force Base_

_North Carolina, United States of Canada_

_12 June 2001_

"Are you _sure_ you're ready for this?" Major Oum asked Yang. They stood, both in flight suits, in front of Yang's F-23. "You've only been flying the Black Widow for four days."

"Four days _straight!"_ Yang insisted, then added, "Sir." She wasn't exaggerating: she'd flown twelve hours a day since getting the aircraft. She patted the yellow nose of the F-23. It wore the SG tailcode and the patch of the 4th Fighter Wing, and as soon as she was able to, Yang had gotten some of the base crew chiefs to paint the nose yellow…along with the name _Ember Celica the 2nd_ under the cockpit. They'd get to the wingtips when they could. Yang felt her confidence returning every time she took the Black Widow into the air. She hadn't even had the dream in a few days. Granted, that might have been due to sheer exhaustion. "Major, with respect," Yang told him, "I've got to start getting some dogfight practice in this baby. The cockpit layout's just like the '15! I got this!"

Oum gave it some thought, looking at the aircraft, then at Yang. "How's the hand?" he finally asked.

Yang brought up her artificial hand, concentrated, and rotated the wrist, before opening and closing the hand. "It's fine."

"All right." He sighed. "I'll need to arrange someone to go up against you. I'd do it, but I've got a hop scheduled down to Florida tonight. While I do that, you fill out the range request and the FAA reports so they can clear the airspace." Yang soured; she hated paperwork. Oum caught the look and snickered. "You still want to go up and tussle? Do the paperwork."

"Yes, sir."

"Glad you remembered the sir this time, Captain. Give me about an hour or so."

Yang saluted, then walked across the sweltering tarmac. She found a luckily air-conditioned office, printed out the forms, and began going through the mind-numbing ritual of writing out flight plans, then making phone calls to the local airports. The air combat range was over the Atlantic Ocean, away from the main air traffic lanes, but general aviation aircraft like Cessnas and such didn't use the lanes. They could be anywhere, and a midair with a Piper Aztec would kill her just as quickly as Adam Taurus. _Quit thinking about that asshole,_ Yang commanded herself.

Oum stuck his head into the office. "Captain, I've got you an opponent. He'll meet you over the range. Got all the paperwork filled out?"

Yang signed a form with a flourish. In that respect, she'd always been ambidextrous; at least she hadn't had to learn to write again. "Yes, sir!"

"Okay, go have fun." Oum winked.

"You bet your ass, sir." Yang handed him the forms, and sashayed out to her aircraft. She ran through preflight, climbed into the cockpit—it was much less of a climb to the low-slung F-23—and helped her crew chief connect her to the aircraft: straps, radio hookup, oxygen hookup, ejection seat stirrups. Somehow, her helmet had made its way from her recovery by Blake and the Army troops at Beacon, through the hospitals, and ended up here. It was the only thing she had left from what now felt almost like a previous life.

Yang closed the canopy once the crew chief was clear and started the engines, plugged in the GPS coordinates to the range, made one glance around the F-23, and put her hands together, thumbs facing outwards, then moved them apart—the signal to pull chocks. The ground crew crawled underneath the F-23 _,_ avoiding the intakes, and pulled the chocks free. She followed the crew chief's signals to the taxiway, returned his crisp salute, and keyed her mike. " _Ember Celica,_ request taxi to active."

" _Ember Celica,_ Signal, you are cleared to runway 23 right via taxiway Echo. You are number one for departure."

Yang adjusted her straps and tried to get comfortable as she rolled out onto the active runway. She got her navigation clearance from the tower, winds aloft, air temperature, and such. It was hot today, so she would have to delay her takeoff for a little, though the Black Widow was running clean and light, with only fuel aboard. Signal was far enough away that GRIMM were no threat, and Yang was very sure that her gun was unloaded this time. _Not making_ that _mistake again._ She'd been worried that the men and women of the 4th Fighter Wing would hold that against her, but apparently word had gotten out that Yang was set up somehow. The Air Force rumor mill was the fastest form of communication known to man. No one had mentioned her shootdown of Mercury Black, at least not to her face.

Yang smiled beneath her mask. "Signal Tower, request combat departure."

There was a pause. " _Ember Celica,_ cleared for combat departure. Be advised of traffic to the west on climb out."

"Roger that, traffic to the west." She'd have to make sure her rollout was to the south and east. Signal was a little too close for comfort to Charlotte International Airport sometimes. One last check of the instruments, and Yang advanced the throttles until the twin General Electric turbofans were howling behind her, though it was quieter than the F-15. Then she released the brakes and _Ember Celica_ shot forward down the runway. She eased back the stick, checked that her airspeed was good, then pulled the stick back into her lap. The F-23 stood on its tail and roared into the cerulean blue sky. Yang laughed out loud. It was good to be back. She made a quick check to the west when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye—it was the traffic she'd been warned about, but she was well clear of it. _Huh. That looks like an An-12 Cub. Weird. Ruby would go nuts over seeing a museum piece like that one._ Yang smiled as she rolled out at 35,000 feet. _Rubes is going to be so_ pissed _when she sees my new baby. She's still stuck with her poor little F-16._

Yang got onto the air corridor to the range, keeping her radar sweeping in front of her; the synthetic aperature radar was the same that had been on the Silent Eagle, so she was used to its sensitivity. If she'd wanted to, she could track individual cars on the freeway far below her. She also kept her head moving around. There was no threat over North Carolina, but it was a good habit to get back into.

It took half an hour to reach the range. The coast was a strip of white sand behind her, and Yang checked in with the range control, a group of Marines in a radar station at MCAS Cherry Point, to her northeast. She wondered if Oum had scared up a Marine or two as her opponent: dissimilar air combat training meant going up against something much different than her F-23. Since she had the only flyable one, that wouldn't be hard, but a Marine F-18 or a Harrier would be a different threat than the F-15s she was used to flying. Talking to the Marines made her think of Blake, but Yang put those thoughts out of her mind as well. One, she didn't need any distractions in air combat, and second, because she was not ready to think about Blake yet. _One thing at a time,_ she told herself, a mantra Yang had been using a lot lately.

She loitered for fifteen minutes; luckily, she had plenty of fuel. Finally, she got a call from Range Control: her opponent had entered the range. Just before she switched off her radar, she got a hit off of whoever it was; they had come from Signal, about thirty minutes behind her. Yang's eyebrows rose. _Huh. Wonder if Major Oum was lying his ass off about going to Florida. Man, I hope it's not him. He taught me and Ruby a ton of shit back in the day, him and Uncle Qrow._ "Atlantic Range, Range Control, check in," the Marine at Cherry point called out.

"Range Control, _Ember Celica,_ " Yang replied.

"Good morning, Range Control," said the voice of her opponent. "The temperature is 85 degrees."

Yang's eyes widened. _"Dad?!"_

There was a pause, and Range Control radioed, " _Ember Celica,_ say again your last?"

"No prob, Range Control; _Ember Celica's_ just a little surprised," Taiyang Xiao Long said. "However, I don't think 'Dad' is an appropriate callsign, so we'll just go with 'Dragon.'"

"Uh, roger that, Dragon." The Marine cleared his throat. " _Ember Celica,_ Dragon, you are clear for ACM, until one side gets a kill. No traffic this area. Your hard deck is 5000 feet ASL. Aircraft will maintain 2000 feet of clearance at all times. Dragon will set up east to west, _Celica_ west to east. Check in when in position."

"Range Control," Taiyang radioed, "request heats and guns only."

Yang grinned. Her dad wanted a knife fight. "Range Control, _Ember Celica_ concurs."

"Roger. Heats and guns only."

Yang turned to the west, flew about five miles, then turned back east. " _Ember Celica,_ in position." She squinted. _What's Dad flying?_ At this range, he was just a speck. It looked like a big speck. _Holy shit,_ she realized. _Oum contacted Dad! I bet he's in a F-15. Dad flew those after he got out of the backseat on F-4s._ She flexed her hands; her real one felt sweaty all of a sudden. Tai had taught Yang and Ruby how to fly; he hadn't taught them how to dogfight. And despite Taiyang's age, he had a lot more combat time than she did. He'd forgotten more tricks than she knew. Yang felt herself breathing hard and forced herself to calm down. _Okay, Pops. Let's do this._ _Starting head to head…I don't believe we're doing this. Dinner's going to be really awkward tonight._

"Fight's on," Range Control called out.

Yang pushed the throttle up to close the distance, then eased off a bit, realizing she was being too aggressive—what had almost gotten her killed against Adam. Tai had grabbed some altitude, giving him a look-down shoot-down situation, which the F-15 excelled at—but Yang knew that the infrared sensor on the inert Sidewinder he carried would have trouble locking onto the stealthy F-23, which mixed cold air with its exhaust. She was already set up for a gun pass, and watched her father as the speck grew into the twin tails of a F-15. There was the briefest of hesitations, then Tai broke right. Yang's hand—her artificial one—was already snapping the stick over to follow; she hadn't even realized her arm was responding to her without thought now.

Then Tai's flaps dropped as he came out of the break, shedding airspeed. Yang swore and threw the Black Widow into a climb, avoiding the overshoot, then almost immediately rolled out, hanging upside down and looking down at the sea. Sure enough, Tai was climbing as well, to cut her off, but he had not quite anticipated her to react so quickly. Instead of catching Yang in the climb, where he could fire a simulated Sidewinder from behind, they shot past each other, canopy to canopy. Yang stomped a bootful of left rudder, throwing the F-23 into a punishing eight-G turn. A gasp escaped her lips as the G-suit squeezed her, and vapor erupted over her wings in the humid Atlantic air, but as she snapped level, she growled in satisfaction: Tai had made a mistake. He thought she would break right instead of left, as fighter pilots tended to break towards their dominant hand, and now she was behind him. Her gunsight pipper centered between the F-15's engines.

"Fox—" she began, but Tai threw the Eagle into a barrel roll, sliding out of her gunsight. She followed, going high into a yo-yo to cut him off. Tai throttled back, nearly forced Yang to overshoot again, and then turned back into her. They ended up in a low-speed scissors, and Yang smiled again: the F-23 had the advantage here, as it was designed for this sort of thing. Tai realized it, and dived away for the ocean. It caught Yang a little by surprise, and she was a fraction slow in following. That second gave Tai enough time for separation, scooting out of Sidewinder range. Yang gritted her teeth and flew after him. He was low on energy as he climbed, scrabbling for altitude, and his daughter closed the distance rapidly. Once more, Yang centered the gunsight on Tai's F-15, this time on its broad back, and once more, Tai found a way to dart out of it before Yang could pull the trigger. She turned into him, but Tai cheated the scissors tighter than Yang could follow, and she was forced out in front.

_Damn, he's good,_ she thought. She climbed, daring him to follow; he took her up on it. _Right now,_ Yang thought, _Dad's wondering why I'm climbing, since I'm in great Sidewinder parameters. Well, watch what the new and improved_ Ember Celica _can do, Daddy!_

As Tai closed into guns range, Yang yanked back the throttles. The F-23 was capable of this, the large wing and nose chines providing plenty of lift. Had Tai been following a quarter of a mile further, Yang would've simply made herself a large, stationary target. But now _he_ had been just a tad too aggressive, and Yang had caught him out. The F-15 shot past, and though Tai was quick to push over into a dive to keep her from trying a snap shot, she was behind him again.

And this time, Yang stayed there. Taiyang had plenty of tricks and used them all, a dance of aerial prowess that left the Marines in Range Control stunned—but despite all that, Yang still managed to stay behind him, even if her arms hurt, her stomach ached with the constant squeezing of the G-suit, and her flight suit was soaked in sweat. Something had to give, and it did.

Yang pulled out of a diving turn into a roll, still behind Tai's F-15. For about the twentieth time—or at least it felt like that—she put the pipper on the Eagle. Suddenly, her father leveled out. Yang pulled off some power, ready for Tai's next trick, but nothing happened. _He's quitting? I mean, I got him and we're getting low on fuel, but still…_

Tai's voice came over the radio. " _Ember_ … _Ember Celica…_ I can't…something…" His voice sounded slurred. Then he suddenly let out a choking groan. The F-15 wallowed in the sky; the nose came up, the aircraft nearly stalled, and then went into a dive, the wings rolling drunkenly.

"Oh God, _no!"_ Yang screamed, and dived after him. "Range Control, Range Control, knock it off! Dragon is going down!" _What's wrong with him?_ she asked herself frantically. _Oh no, he's had a heart attack or something! Oh God, not Dad too!_ The F-15 seemed to correct itself a bit, but they were already approaching the hard deck. Five thousand feet below that was the unyielding ocean. "Dad, get out of it! Punch out! Eject!" Yang tried to close the distance, to see what was going on the cockpit.

Without warning, the speedbrake on the back of the F-15 opened, then almost as suddenly closed; the nose came up as Yang flew past into the overshoot. Tai rolled, ended up squarely behind the F-23, and shouted, "Guns, guns, guns!" For added measure, _Ember Celica's_ RWR lit up, showing that Tai had locked onto her.

Range Control's voice took a moment or two. "That's a kill, Dragon. _Ember Celica,_ you're a mort."

"What the…what the fuck…" Yang leveled out.

"Dragon, Range Control," the Marine radioed. "Are you all right?"

"Fit as a fiddle, Range Control. That's what we in the Air Force call a sucker play." Tai flew up next to Yang and waggled his wings. "Dragon's tactical. RTB to Signal."

"Roger that, Dragon, _Ember Celica._ " The voice paused. "Hell of a show today, Air Force."

"Thanks, Jarhead. Dragon has the lead." Tai led Yang up to a sedate cruising altitude. They had enough fuel and then some to reach Signal, but it was enough ACM for both of them.

"Dragon, go channel four," Yang radioed. When they were on a discrete frequency, Yang shouted, "Dad, what the fuck! You scared the bejesus out of me!"

"Sorry about that, kiddo. I'd tried everything else, and you were all over me. Just remember: lie, cheat and steal in the cockpit, and leave—"

"—and leave your dress blues at home. Yeah, yeah," Yang finished. Blake had said that, a few months ago at Beacon…which now felt like years. Apparently her instructors had known Tai's. Or had the misfortune of fighting against him.

"Yang," Tai said, somber, "you did damn fine today. Seriously. I know the Air Force won't clear you for a little while longer, but as far as I'm concerned, you're ready. I don't know how, but if that arm is causing you problems, you didn't show it today. You are one damn shit hot pilot."

"It hurts like hell," Yang replied, telling the truth. It hurt enough that Yang wished she could disconnect it for relief, but she was stuck with it. There was plenty of Tylenol in her future. She waved to her father. "But you know…the pilot shit?" She laughed. "I think I come by it naturally."

* * *

_Charlotte International Airport_

_North Carolina, United States of America_

_12 June 2001_

Rick Tardor looked over from inspecting the number one engine on the An-12 as Weiss came towards him from the cargo terminal. "Miss Schnee. Were you able to get hold of your friend?"

"No, they weren't home." Weiss joined him under the engine. "It's odd…I would've thought at least Yang's father would be there. I left a message. I didn't tell them our flight plan or anything," she assured them. "Only that I was okay and headed to Japan." She glanced at him. "No chance we can stay overnight? I'll call them back if we can."

"No, sorry." He thumbed towards the open rear ramp of the Antonov, where cargo was being loaded. "Spare engines. Seems a Delta Airlines bird blew an engine and landed in Phoenix. We'll rush one out to them, fuel up, and then fly to Tijuana."

"Tijuana? What the hell for?" Weiss had heard of Tijuana, Mexico. Despite butting right up next to a dead zone, where San Diego had been destroyed by a Soviet nuclear weapon, Tijuana had somehow survived. GRIMM were known to infest the area, but an odd combination of the US Navy, operating from carriers, the Mexican Air Force, and local air pirate bands actually kept the GRIMM numbers low. Tijuana remained, but it was lawless, only technically still part of Mexico in that there was a small military presence there. A small one, that pretty much let the gangs run the town. "Isn't that a bad idea? Why not fuel up in Las Vegas for the run?"

"Wouldn't leave us much reserve if we did that, not fully loaded. I'd rather not have to ditch this bitch anywhere, let alone the Pacific." He stepped over to look at the number two engine. "We can make Phoenix by midnight. I want to get an early start. We're going to be flying right over an air pirate zone, but if we hook through Tijuana, they'll usually leave us alone. And once we're out over the Pacific, the Navy will protect us. Don't like relying on the squids, but they've saved my ass before." He sighed. "And to be honest, Miss Schnee, Las Vegas isn't much better than Tijuana. It's half dozen of one, six of the other."

"Swell." A large drop of oil fell from the engine and landed right between Weiss' breasts. She had managed to change clothes in the An-12's alleged toilet, for all the good that had done now. "Oh, dammit."

Rick stifled a laugh. "I think we've got enough time for you to grab a shower, Miss Schnee. There's one in the terminal for flight crew deadheading overnight." He checked his watch. "There's some real beds in there, too. Just tell them you're the copilot on Intercargo Flight 917A. We've got some time."

"Thanks." Weiss sighed, went into the aircraft to grab her overnight bag, and headed back to the cargo terminal. Tardor gave the number two engine another once-over, decided it was just the normal leaking the old Antonov did, and walked over to the ramp. "How's it going?" he asked the ramp chief.

"Reckon about another five hours or so, cap'n," the chief drawled. He saw Weiss headed for the terminal, and took a moment to admire her derriere. He whistled. "That's your copilot?"

"Yep," Rick replied, casually. He put his hands behind his back.

"Damn. No offense, cap'n, but that's a nice ass. White hair color? She dye it or something?" The chief squinted. "She looks kinda familiar." Weiss wore her hair down, and her clothes were off-the-rack, not expensive, but there weren't too many white-haired people under the age of 50—aside from the Schnees.

"You heard of the Schnees, over in Germany?" The chief nodded after a moment. "Yeah, she's like a distant cousin or something. Really distant, to be working this job." Rick motioned at the An-12. "She's a good stick, though. Her daddy had a flying school or something," he lied. Rick had learned fast in covert operations, that the best way to tell a lie was to leaven it with the truth.

"Huh." The ramp chief watched Weiss a moment longer and then shrugged. "Welp. None of my business."

"Do me a favor, chief?" Rick asked. He pointed to the An-12's twin 23mm tail guns. "Can you check those? I'm going into pirate country."

"You bet," the chief replied. "I'll check your flare ejectors, too. Can't be too careful."

"Yeah," Rick said, as the chief walked off. Once the chief was on the other side of the ramp, Rick stuffed the length of rope back into a pocket of his flight suit. If the ramp chief had asked any more questions about Weiss, he would've had to suffer an unfortunate accident. "Can't be too careful."


	22. Evening Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghira, Sun and Blake meet with the Menagerie Council, to accuse Sienna Khan. But the meeting does not go as planned. 
> 
> And Blake has a visitor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter this time around, all with Sun and Blake. I began writing the meeting between Reaper Flight and Leonardo Lionheart, but it was topping over 4000 words and I was only halfway through, so that will wait until next time.

_The Belladonna Lodge_

_Paisley, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_12 June 2001_

Kali Belladonna idly leafed through an issue of _Menagerie Today._ She was quite proud of the fact that, despite being on the wrong side of 40, she still didn't need glasses. Ghira had to use them to read now, but her eyesight was still as superb as it had been when she had flown for the Royal Air Force.

Somehow, she managed not to leap into the ceiling when the front door suddenly slammed open. Ghira stalked through it, red-faced, enraged, which did not really surprise Kali; Ghira had a tendency to return from Menagerie Council meetings in a bad mood. What was surprising that Sun Wukong was right behind him, equally angry.

"Unbelievable!" Ghira shouted.

"Total bullshit!" Sun added.

"I will not stand for this!"

"Fucking A!"

Kali calmly put down the magazine and smoothed her skirt. "Well," she said with a smile, "at least you two can agree on something."

Sun and Ghira looked at her, then looked at each other. Sun let out a weak laugh, while Ghira just growled and stomped towards the kitchen.

Behind Sun, Blake Belladonna closed the doors. "Hi, Mom. We're home."

"So I see." Kali got to her feet. "So, I may infer from your father's anger that the Council meeting went poorly?"

"That's an understatement," Blake sighed. "Mom, what's with—"

Ghira came back into the living room, a beer bottle in one beefy paw. He tore the cap off with his bare hands and drank a third of it. "We introduced the evidence against Sienna in the Council. I played the tape from Amitola's cell phone. And they just _sat_ there. They just _stared_ at me." He flung his free hand at Sun, nearly hitting the monkey Faunus. "Captain Wukong gets up there and testifies that he saw Sienna leading the attack on Beacon." He then pointed at Blake. "And so does Blake. And I can tell it's tearing her up inside to even _talk_ about this! What, with her friends nearly being killed and her friend Yang nearly dying—"

"Dad, please," Blake pleaded.

Ghira stopped, looked at her, then nodded. "I'm sorry, little one." He took another drink. "And still they sit there! They say _nothing!_ "

Kali put her hands behind her back. "And Sienna? What does she do?"

Ghira snorted. "Denied the whole thing, of course! She said she was at Lecket Hill the whole time, and the Albains can prove it. And of course, those two arse-kissers nod solemnly and say, why yes, Sienna was there, knitting a scarf and going over her donations to the Reedy Creek Faunus Youth Ranch!"

Kali raised an eyebrow and glanced at Blake. "Did they really say that?"

"Not the knitting scarf part," Blake replied. "But yes, they did say she was meeting someone with Reedy Creek."

"And she can provide the names of those she met with," Sun added.

"And she will, and _those_ fools will back her fool story up!" Ghira thundered. "Everyone with an IQ that of their belt size know that Reedy Creek is a White Fang front organization, but no one has the _balls_ to say it!" He finished the beer, stared at it like he wanted to hurl it against the nearest wall, then went over to the recliner and collapsed into it. "Well, I will, by God!"

Kali went over and sat on the arm of the chair, leaning against her husband. "So, what now?"

Blake walked over to them. "It's not as bad as all that. Dad's right—the Council did just sit there—"

"Like a bunch of stunned cows!" Sun snarled.

Blake put up a hand. "Easy, Sun. They did just sit there, but they promised a vote on it tomorrow."

"A vote." Ghira's fists balled, and Kali extracted the beer bottle before he broke it. "A vote to _investigate_ Sienna Khan. Not to arrest her. Not to ban the White Fang. Not even to censure her."

Kali put her arm around Ghira's huge shoulders. "Dear, what would Winston say in a time like this?"

"'Democracy is the worst form of government except all the others,'" Ghira mumbled.

"Well, yes," Kali conceded, "but I was rather thinking the quote about the end of the beginning. It's a start. At least they're investigating."

" _Considering_ an investigation," Ghira corrected her.

"And Charles Tabey did say he supported you, Dad. With his faction behind you, Sienna will get investigated. It may come to nothing, but at least she'll be looking over her shoulder." Blake had grown up close to Menagerie politics; it had been one reason she'd joined the White Fang. Ghira grunted, but Blake could tell her remarks had made him feel a little better. "Everything's going to be okay, guys." She said it with a bit more conviction than she felt, but Tabey's support would make a big difference. And seeing Sienna Khan visibly worried had buoyed Blake's spirits considerably. _At least during an investigation the White Fang won't try anything. Not even Adam will risk it then. I hope,_ she thought.

Kali kissed her husband's cheek, then got up and walked towards the kitchen. "I'll get dinner started."

"Mom," Blake called after her, "what's with the Gurkhas around the house?"

"Oh yes," Kali said. Ghira's head came up; he'd been so distracted that he hadn't noticed. "Gurkhas?" he asked in disbelief. "What the bloody hell?"

Kali turned. "I'm sorry, love. I thought you knew. Four of them arrived this morning, under the command of a Regimental Sergeant Major Ganju Rai. He's out front, somewhere."

"Ganju Rai?" Ghira exclaimed, getting to his feet. "They sent us Rai the Python?" He walked briskly out the front door.

Blake looked to her mother in confusion. Kali smiled. "Ganju Rai is an old friend of your father's. It seems that his friends in MI6 believe that our lives may be in danger, and they don't trust an old Royal Marine like your father, much less an old fighter pilot like me, to defend us if the White Fang—or someone else—should attack. So, four Gurkhas." Kali resumed walking into the kitchen.

Blake sat on the couch, quickly joined by Sun. "What are Gurkhas?" he asked.

She gave him a look of disbelief. "You've never heard of them?"

"Chinese Unified Air Force, not Army," he reminded her.

"I thought everyone knew about them." Blake quickly explained the Gurkhas. Once enemies of the British Empire, the British had realized their fighting potential and began recruiting regiments of the tough Nepalese fighters. It had been a good choice: for nearly two hundred years, the Gurkhas had served British kings and queens with incredible courage and fighting prowess. They carried guns like other troops, but were far more renowned—and feared—for their hook-bladed fighting knife, the kukri. Sun's eyebrows went up, impressed. "They sound pretty damn tough. Guess I need to pay attention more."

"I'll forgive you," Blake smiled. Sun had been tough too, she admitted to herself. Whereas even Blake had only referred to Sienna Khan in the third person at the Council meeting, Sun had actually pointed directly at the White Fang High Leader and accused her to her face of leading the attack on Beacon. He'd just drawn a target on his back, but the monkey Faunus could not care less.

Sun grinned back, then grabbed the remote. "Let's see what's on the telly. That's what they call it around here, right?" He clicked it on and settled back. He was tempted to put an arm around Blake—she was close enough—but the thought of Ghira seeing him being forward with his daughter sent a chill down his tail. Sun might not fear Sienna Khan, but he was very afraid of Ghira Belladonna.

Blake leaned back next to him, surreptitiously taking in Sun's pectorals, which as usual, were on display. Her heart began beating a bit faster. She hadn't been with anyone since Adam, and Sun _was_ here, and certainly attractive enough. _Heh. I'm so hard up Yang was looking good,_ Blake thought, then once more tried to put Yang out of her thoughts. Then she asked herself why, exactly, she would. Yang Xiao Long deserved more than to be crammed into a metaphysical box in one corner of her brain. Maybe now was the time to let her out. Sun would be a good one to talk to; he'd been at Beacon, after all.

"Sun, can I—"

"Holy shit!" Sun yelled, pointing the remote at the television. Blake looked, and all thoughts of Yang vanished. Her hands went involuntarily to her mouth. "Mrs. B!" Sun shouted.

Kali came out of the kitchen, drying her hands. "What is it—oh my God!"

The TV was on the BBC, showing an aerial view of Edinburgh Castle. At the bottom, the news ticker read CHARLES TABEY DEAD.

* * *

Blake leaned against the balcony of her home, staring out over the woods, across the nearby golf course. A crescent moon hung in the sky, over the distant, dark mountains. Glasgow glowed over to her right. It was a somber town tonight, as Menagerie mourned the death of one of the nation's founders. Kali and Ghira had gone to an emergency meeting of the Council. Sun sat watching TV; he was as stunned as anyone else. He might not have heard of the Gurkhas in China, but he had heard of Charles Tabey.

Blake turned as she heard soft footfalls on the balcony landing. It was one of the Gurkhas, the only female in the group. Blake hadn't known there were any female ones. The woman was short, almost tiny, dressed in her regiment's fatigue uniform. A pistol was on one hip; on the other was the kukri. The woman came to attention. "Good evening, Captain Belladonna. Do you wish me to stay with you?"

Blake smiled. "No, that's all right. May I ask your name?"

"Chatushkami Tamang, ma'am. Corporal, 2nd Gurkha Regiment." A brief smile, revealing just for a second the twenty-year old girl behind the uniform. "It is a bit of a mouthful."

"I appreciate you being here."

Tamang gave a short nod. "My duty, Captain. And an honor."

Blake realized she was waiting to be dismissed. It had been awhile since anyone had been under Blake's command; the only people she'd given orders to since officers' school was her ground crew at Patuxent River and Beacon. "That will be all, Corporal." Tamang snapped back to attention and saluted, palm outwards in the British fashion. Blake did the same, palm-down in the American style. The Gurkha then left, retreating back into the kitchen and to her guard post out front.

Blake returned to staring over the balcony, then sniffed the air. "I know you're there, Ilia," she sighed. Ilia Amitola appeared as if conjured, climbing up from under the balcony, her skin returning to its natural color; she wore her usual black jumpsuit, and the white White Fang mask. She stood on the railing of the balcony. "You might want to get down," Blake advised her. "Those Gurkhas are likely to get nervous."

"Gurkhas." Ilia shook her head. "I admit it's better than the no security at all you had here. Still, there's only four of them."

Blake leaned nonchalantly on the balcony. "And myself, and Sun, plus my father and mother. We won't die easily, Ilia, and I guarantee there will be a lot of dead White Fang preceding us into the afterlife."

Ilia put up her hands. "I just came to talk, that's all."

"Which is why you were wearing that perfume of yours. So I would smell it, and not have Corporal Tamang come back here and cut your head off when you sneaked in here." Blake couldn't avoid the venom in her voice. Ilia had been her dearest friend, as close as a sister, but she'd also been part of the attack on Beacon, and either directly or indirectly responsible for all the dead fighter pilots, and Yang's crippling.

Ilia seemed not to notice. "You bought me that stuff on the Paris job. I kind of like it."

"I don't feel much like talking about old times, Ilia. I had enough of that today." She shook her head. "Why, Ilia? Why do you stay with the White Fang? We played what was on your phone today to the Council."

"I know," Ilia said.

"Then you know that the Albains and Sienna have sold you out!" Blake hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "They're blaming it all on Adam. According to them, Sienna never left Menagerie. She wasn't with you when you hit Beacon— _or_ the convoy in Iowa, or Mountain Glenn." Her lips peeled back in anger. "But we know that's a lie, don't we, Ilia? Sienna was in all three places. That was her voice that broadcast after Penny Polendina got killed."

Ilia looked away. "You can't prove anything, Blake." To Blake's surprise, the tone in Ilia's voice was apologetic, not defiant, as if she was genuinely sorry Blake couldn't prove it. "And with Tabey dead, there's not going to be an investigation of Sienna. Everyone's going to be too busy…and Tabey promised Sienna his seat on the Council."

Blake fought down the urge to punch Ilia between the eyeslits of the mask. "Oh, you've got it all figured out, don't you? Did you come here to gloat?"

"No!" Ilia insisted. She pulled the mask off. Her eyes were wide, pained, and pleading. "Please, Blake. You've got to leave Menagerie."

"Why? Is Sienna going to attack us? Is _Adam?"_

"I don't know. They're not talking to me. That's what scares me." She reached out and took Blake's hands. "Please, Blake," she repeated. "I know you hate me, and maybe you should. But you've got to leave. You, your mom and dad, and that monkey guy in there with ripped abs."

The comment would've been enough to make Blake chuckle under normal circumstances, but she was too angry. "So you want me to run away again, is that it?" She stabbed a finger into Ilia's chest. "You can take that and shove it up your ass, Ilia. Go back and tell Adam that I'm _through_ running. I've run too far as it is." She pushed Ilia away. "Get out of here. I know Dad. If the Council won't cooperate, he'll go straight to the Faunus as a whole. And they'll follow him. Tabey or no Tabey. You know it too, Ilia." Blake fixed her former friend with a murderous stare. "If you want us to leave Menagerie, you're going to have to force us."

Ilia looked down, sadly. "I know, Blake. I know." She put her mask back on, leapt into the woods, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having the Gurkhas show up was kind of a whim, after watching the scene between Ilia and Blake in canon RWBY. I realized that the Belladonnas don't have guards like in the show, and the idea "Let's have some Gurkhas show up!" just sprang into my mind.
> 
> There are female Gurkhas IRL-or there will be. The regiments began recruiting women this year for the first time. But in the RWBY Wings universe, there are a lot more females in the armed forces than in our world.


	23. The Lion Sleeps Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reaper Flight and Qrow meet Leonardo Lionheart in Japan. Qrow has some questions about JINN...and a few answers about the Spring Maiden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was supposed to be half "Qrow and Reaper Flight Meet Lionheart" and half "Weiss and Rick Tardor Fight the Lancers". Instead it ended up being all of the former. Sorry. This is a rather talky chapter, with a lot of infodump and exposition, but it's necessary. I'll make it up to you folks with an action-y next chapter.

_Misawa Air Base_

_Aomori Prefecture, Japan_

_13 June 2001_

Qrow Branwen knocked on the office door of Air Vice Marshal Leonardo Lionheart. There was no answer. Behind him, Reaper Flight waited patiently—somewhat patiently, when it came to Nora Valkyrie. She'd been promised the afternoon off, and wanted to go exploring: she and Ren had been to Aomori before, but that was as child refugees. Now she wanted to actually see the place, as adults with money.

Qrow knocked again. Still there was no answer. Nor was there a secretary, which was odd, considering Lionheart's high rank. "We're in the right place, right?" Ruby asked.

He pointed to the nameplate on the door. "Says it's his office." He turned back to the door and a twinge of pain rolled up his back. He'd only gotten out of the hospital the day before, and though the doctors assured him he'd make a complete recovery, they'd also advised Qrow that he was going to experience pain for awhile longer. He'd been prescribed painkillers, but he already had his own: Qrow reached into a pocket of his uniform, pulled out a flask, and took a drink. Pyrrha covered her face in embarrassment, as drinking on duty was a court-martial offense.

A terrible thought occurred to Qrow: Salem's forces had gotten to Lionheart. Even now, the former Air Vice Marshal might be lying in a pool of his own blood. Before any of Reaper Flight could stop him, Qrow kicked the door in.

Leonardo Lionheart actually screamed, throwing a pen into the acoustic tiles of the ceiling, where it stuck. Papers flew off his desk. He leapt to his feet, knocking over his office chair, and then saw who it was. "Qrow Branwen, dammit!" Lionheart reached up, pulled the buds out of his ears, and then steadied himself on his desk. "God in heaven, you bloody fool, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Qrow could hear the Beatles faintly over Lionheart's heavy breathing, and the Faunus switched off a CD player on his desk.

"You knew we were coming," Qrow reminded him. "Weren't you supposed to meet us after our C-130 landed?"

Lionheart blinked, then looked down at his watch. "Oh, hell. Yes, I was. I'm terribly sorry, Qrow; I lost track of time." He put a smile on it. "That happens when you get old." He looked behind Qrow as the others filed in. "And this must be Reaper Flight that I've heard about." Lionheart came from around the desk. Ruby, Pyrrha, Nora and Ren came to attention, but the Vice Marshal waved that off, shaking hands with them. "I'm afraid I only have one chair," he apologized. "But thank you for coming." He returned to his desk, held up the CD player as he put it away. "A gift from my daughter." Lionheart paused. "You…knew her, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Nora said. "We all did. We're really sorry, sir."

Ruby nodded. "She was a good person, sir. We all loved her. She…" Ruby softly giggled, remembering the party after Mountain Glenn when Ruth Lionheart had gone around kissing everyone, on the lips. "She was awesome, sir."

The room was silent. Lionheart stared at his desk, then pulled out a small picture. He showed it to them: Ruth Lionheart, in her RAF dress uniform, saluting the photographer with two raised fingers—the British equivalent of the middle finger—and a toothy grin. "Yes, she was," he sighed heavily. He stared at the picture, then laid it face down on the desk. "I'm glad you're here. Together, we're going to nail the bastards that killed her."

Reaper Flight looked at each other in shock. "Then…you know?" Pyrrha asked.

"Yes," Lionheart said solemnly. "A mutual friend in the CIA let me know, after the fall of Beacon."

"Good," Pyrrha said with a sharp nod. "When do we begin?" She didn't notice the other members of Reaper Flight's expressions of concern.

"First of all," Qrow said before Lionheart could reply, "mind explaining why the base is so quiet? There's two squadrons of F-16s here, and the place is like a ghost town."

"Running combat air patrols over the Sea of Japan, I should think," Lionheart answered. "The commander of the 35th Fighter Wing here and I had a conversation after your dustup over Sakhalin. If Salem is indeed in Siberia, that's her primary attack vector." He held up a finger and pulled out a folder from his desk, handing it to Ruby. "Those aircraft that attacked you. They were mercenaries, operating out of old Vladivostok, as near as we can tell. We don't know who hired them yet—not like there were survivors to interrogate." Reaper Flight had seen no ejections.

"What about asking ground crews at Vladivostok?" Ren asked.

Lionheart smiled. "Won't work, my boy. The people there hire to the highest bidder, and they stay bought." He leaned back in his chair. "I have my suspicions it's the Malachite Gang. They're the biggest air pirate gang in Manchuria. Not really strong enough to pose a threat to Japan, but…" Lionheart spread his hands. "That's what Ozpin thought about Torchwick's gang, too."

"So the _entire_ 35th is running CAP to the northwest?" Qrow asked in disbelief. "Good God, Leo, who the hell is guarding JINN?"

Lionheart sat up in shock. "Qrow, shut your mouth! That's most secret!" He motioned at Reaper Flight.

Qrow collapsed into the one seat in the office, and took a defiant swig from his flask. "Oh, c'mon, Leo. Read them in. They already know about the Maidens."

Lionheart covered his face as he leaned forward. "You _told_ them about the Maidens?"

"Leo, Pyrrha here was going to _be_ a Maiden. She was going to take over for Amber Tardor."

Lionheart looked at Pyrrha, who nodded sadly. He was quiet for a long moment, then got to his feet. "All right." He stared out of his window. "JINN stands for Joint Inter-National Network." He turned and smiled. "Yes, we do love our acronyms, don't we? Essentially, JINN is a clearinghouse for all the information we have on the GRIMM. It's really quite simple: you log in, ask JINN a question, and it spits out what information you need."

"That would've been nice to have at Beacon," Ruby said sharply. "How come we're just now hearing about it?" She remembered Lionheart's higher rank. "Sir."

Lionheart shook his head, the smile returning. "I should have prefaced that, Captain Rose. Only certain people can log into the system. People like myself or Captain Ozpin. You have to have the right passwords. Without them, it'll simply kick you out."

"Can it be hacked?" Ren asked, remembering the Black Queen virus.

"Supposedly not, but there is nothing the mind of humans—or Faunus—can devise that the mind of humans or Faunus can't unravel."

"So you can just log on and find out everything about this Salem chick?" Nora asked. She didn't add the sir.

Lionheart laughed. "Not everything, I'm afraid. JINN can't look up what it doesn't know."

"But it knows a lot," Qrow growled. "And it's unguarded."

"Where _is_ it?" Pyrrha wanted to know. "It's not as if every aircraft in the JASDF, or what the Americans have here, is flying around the Sea of Japan."

Lionheart glanced at Qrow, sighed, and sat down again. "It's on one of the Tsushima Islands. I'm not going to say which one, not even here, not even to you. Even that is too much, in my opinion. Besides Major Nikos, _none_ of you should know about the Maidens." He fixed them with a hard stare. "People have died to keep that secret, ladies and gentlemen, including poor Miss Tardor. And many others. And others have killed to make sure the secret stays kept. I assume we have the same mutual friend in the CIA?"

"Shorter than me, long black hair, seems nice but you get the feeling she waterboards people for fun?" Ruby said.

Lionheart nodded. "That is the one. And I should imagine that part of her job is _silencing_ people who know about the Maidens that shouldn't. I've friends in MI6 that do the same. So I can rightfully assume that none of you have, intend, or will speak about Maidens, anywhere on this planet, outside of a secure room, which this is?" Every one in Reaper Flight heard the threat behind the friendly voice. Lionheart himself might not do the killing, but none were under the delusion that there wouldn't be others who would. He turned his attention back to Qrow. "This is reckless, Qrow, even for you."

Qrow's only reaction was another drink. "No, Leo, what's reckless is leaving JINN unguarded."

Lionheart calmly folded his hands in front of him. "Do you think that the fall of Beacon only affected the United States, Qrow? The _world_ was affected by that. Not just the knowledge that there are gigantic GRIMM capable of destroying an entire city, but the knowledge that the United States—in contravention of every treaty signed since the end of the Third World War—has orbital weapons. Add to that the utter failure of the technology we've touted as being able to stop the GRIMM, and hearing this poor woman—" he pointed to Pyrrha "—being forced to kill that poor girl to stop a runaway weapons system…people are frightened, Qrow. One reason why we've been so aggressive with combat air patrols around Japan is to reassure people that they're safe from the GRIMM blasting downtown Tokyo." He picked at his desk with a worn claw. "We've lost so many good people, and not all of them were at Beacon. So many good Huntsmen and Huntresses gone on top of that. And it's only going to get worse."

Ruby didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean, sir?"

Lionheart looked up at her, and suddenly appeared very old. "Geopolitics, my dear. Many countries are angry at the United States for keeping their Maiden a secret. Of course, several of the nations complaining about the Americans using their Maiden have one of their own, which is why they're being so loud about it—they don't want to admit that they _themselves_ have violated treaties, and that everyone agreed to do so all those years ago. But now we have the European Union placing an embargo on the United States, which is causing crippling economic damage to both at the worst time."

"I don't understand that," Pyrrha said. "What possible good can that do?"

"It can't, my dear. We can thank Jacques Schnee for that." Lionheart leaned back in the chair tiredly. "And James—General Ironwood—has ordered Operation Reforger to begin, moving three US Army divisions to Europe. While I understand his sentiment and desire to show that the United States is still willing to defend Europe against the GRIMM, it's inflaming a situation that's already a powder keg. I think he's letting his fears of being caught by surprise again get to him. And Menagerie is a mess too." He sighed. "And we still don't know where the Spring Maiden is."

"Actually…I think I know," Qrow said, sitting up from his slouch. "At least I have a pretty good idea."

Lionheart's head came up, and he shot to his feet. "Qrow, are you _serious?_ "

"It's not exactly good news," Qrow warned.

Lionheart's face split in a huge smile, and he walked around to Qrow, actually grabbing him by the shoulders. "After all this time! Where is it?"

Qrow brushed him off. "Easy, easy! Geez." Qrow looked at the flask, decided against it, and put it back in his pocket. "I don't know _who_ the Maiden that, er, controls the satellite Maiden is. But I got a pretty good idea who's been controlling it all this time." He involuntarily glanced at Ruby.

Lionheart straightened. "Perhaps the rest of you should leave."

"No, let 'em stay. If something happens to my ass, or yours, we need someone else in the loop." Qrow looked at Ruby again, but he addressed Lionheart. "I think the Branwen clan has control of it. How, I don't know."

"Raven?" Lionheart was stunned.

"Yang's mom?" Ruby asked.

"Yep. I want to do some digging around, since I was flat on my ass in the hospital, but I think she's already used it." Qrow levered himself out of the chair. On one wall of Lionheart's office, next to a door that led to another office, was a wall map of the world. "Remember Cardston, Alberta?" he asked the Reapers.

"The one that got the shit knocked out of it?" Nora replied.

"Yeah. We think it got hit by a Nuckalevee. Not the one you guys fought at Kuroyuri—another one. A newer one."

Ren and Nora went pale at that. "Another one?" Ren's voice was quiet.

Qrow caught the fear in Ren's voice. "Don't worry; my sister blew it away. She didn't say exactly how she did it, but I bet I can find telemetry from space or something that shows she used the Spring Maiden. One shot could easily frag even a Nuckalevee."

"How would she have even gotten it?" Pyrrha wanted to know.

"How did she get that souped-up Night Raven of hers?" Qrow returned. "She stole it, somehow. Don't ask me how you hijack a satellite, but she did it. I think. Pretty sure, anyway." He inspected the map, and pointed to southern California. "My guess is she's encamped somewhere around the ruins of Los Angeles. She needs fuel reserves, and there's plenty around there, along with old airplanes, that she can salvage from the old airports and bases. Hell, knowing my sister, she's probably got a refinery up and running somewhere."

Lionheart walked over to the map, and nodded. "Qrow, my boy, this is excellent news. Let me contact our diminuitive friend at Greenbrier, and in a few weeks, we can—"

" _Weeks?"_ Qrow exploded. "Leo, if my sister has a goddamn orbital weapons platform—"

"—she has apparently used it only once, against a Nuckalevee that was threatening western Canada." He held up a hand as Qrow made rupturing noises. "Yes, she did it only to protect her own interests. But she's not exactly calling the President's House or 10 Downing Street to demand one million dollars, or she'll blast a city or something."

"Leo, that's not it." Qrow stalked over and put both hands on Lionheart's desk. "My sister will always back the strongest horse, and from what she told me in Juneau a few days ago, she thinks Salem is the strongest horse. Now she's not dumb enough to give Salem the Maiden, but she'll damn well work with Salem if that's what she thinks is best for the tribe, and herself."

"And perhaps you didn't hear _me,_ Qrow!" Lionheart shot back. "I just got done telling you that we have barely enough resources to defend the Pacific Rim—for which you accused me of recklessly abandoning JINN, I might add—and now you're demanding I assemble a strike force, on my own, to go after your sister?"

"You're an Air Vice Marshal!" Qrow yelled.

"Retired!" Lionheart yelled back. "Her Majesty reinstated me as a favor to liase with the JASDF and Pacific Air Forces Japan. And I have some contacts with the Koreans and Chinese. But what do you want me to do—somehow convince them to launch an airstrike across five thousand miles of open ocean?"

"No, just talk to Arashikaze!" Qrow was tired of pretending like no one knew the CIA woman's name. "She can get the Joint Chiefs to hit Raven with a fucking airstrike themselves! Hell, we've got three carriers in the fucking Pacific. And you know they're not going to listen to me! I'm just a fucking drunk major!" He stabbed a finger at Lionheart. "You're a goddamn Air Vice Marshal who's been fighting GRIMM longer than anyone besides Ozpin! If you tell them my sister's got the fucking ass Spring Maiden, then they'll hit her!"

"Are you finished?" Lionheart asked. Qrow glared at him. "I _will_ contact Arashikaze, and tell her. But everything's a mess in the United States right now, am I right? Increased GRIMM attacks across the dead zones?"

The Reapers had watched the two older men yell at each other like schoolboys, but now Ruby spoke up. "Yeah, it's pretty bad. We got delayed at Hill for almost two weeks."

"My point exactly," Lionheart agreed. "I'm sure that it will take several weeks for the US government to put something together, Qrow."

"Oh, fuck that." Qrow pointed at Reaper Flight. "Hell, we should do it, Leo! You can't squeeze your fat Faunus butt into a fighter—"

Lionheart chuckled. "Thank you _ever_ so much for the reminder, Qrow."

"—but you can order us to hit Raven! These kids aren't exactly pushovers!"

The Faunus' eyebrows rose. "Five people against the Branwen tribe? Listen to yourself, Qrow. You're not drunk; I can tell. But you _are_ acting irrational. Assuming that the five of you can actually do the Branwens some real damage, Raven will scatter…and we'll never recover the Spring Maiden controller. Which, if I know your sister, is probably strapped to her wrist right now."

"It wasn't in Juneau," Qrow tried to argue, but he already knew he'd lost the argument. Mainly because Lionheart was right. Even when he and Raven were little, trying to survive with the tribe, their parents could put up easily forty to fifty fighters. The Reapers were good, but not ten to one good.

Lionheart knew he'd won, but he took no pleasure in it. "Qrow, we get one shot at this, and it had better be perfect."

Qrow slumped back into the chair. "You know Oz wouldn't be happy with any of this."

Lionheart sat as well. "No. But he's dead. So we must do the best we can."

The office was suddenly quiet. "What about Cinder Fall?" Pyrrha asked. "And Emerald Sustrai and Mercury Black. They were supposedly vetted by you, correct?"

Lionheart looked up at the accusatory tone in her voice. "Vetted by my office, Major. And nothing but lies and forgeries. They're a complete cipher. We don't even know if those are their real names. It was a case of one hand assuming the other knew what it was doing. The Spanish thought I had approved Emerald Sustrai's transfer; I thought the Spanish had."

"So it was your fault." Pyrrha didn't mean for the words to come out as harsh as they did, and she instantly looked away. "I'm sorry, sir."

"So am I, Major Nikos. And to be perfectly frank, I think I lost far more than you did as a result."

The ghost of Ruth Lionheart hung between them for a long moment, then Qrow stood again. "Well, I can't say this has been a warm and fuzzy reunion, Leo."

Lionheart sighed. "I know. And I apologize as well. I know you've come such a long way. But I will do everything I can to help." He smiled wanly. "And yes, Qrow, I will make sure to establish a CAP over the Tsushima Straits."

"Thanks. They got us down at Atsugi for now. Keep in touch?"

"Certainly."

Qrow and the Reapers began to leave the office. Ruby hesitated on the threshold. "Nice meeting you, sir. And we're sorry about Ruth. Believe me."

Lionheart bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Captain. It makes me feel better knowing she made such good friends in the short time she knew you." She smiled and closed the door behind her.

The door to the other office opened a minute later. "Rather nice performance, Air Vice Marshal," Arthur Watts smiled.


	24. Here They Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weiss and Rick Tardor are halfway to Tijuana when they see another aircraft ambushed by GRIMM...and they're next. 
> 
> Now they're going to have to fight their way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an action chapter! This one is all Weiss' and Rick Tardor's.
> 
> There is a few in-jokes here that I won't mention (if you get what the last part with Weiss and Rick is based on, you are definitely a war movie buff). But if you're not humming or listening to "TIE Fighter Attack" from the Star Wars soundtrack, or better yet, "Reminiscence Therapy" from the Solo soundtrack, then we can't be friends.

_The Southern Mojave Desert_

_California Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_13 June 2001_

Weiss Schnee startled herself awake. She realized she'd fallen asleep, lulled by the noise of the four Ivchenko turboprops. She laughed softly.

Rick Tardor looked over at her with a confused smile. "What's so funny?"

"I must be a pilot," Weiss replied. She thumbed towards the engines. "I fell asleep to those." She yawned and stretched, then looked outside. The sun was already climbing overhead, promising a hot day. They'd left Phoenix at dawn. "Where are we?"

"Over the Mojave. About 250 miles to Tijuana…we should be there in an hour or so. Bit of a headwind." He pointed to navigator's position in the glassed nose. "You can probably see the Salton Sea from there."

Weiss checked the altimeter. "18,000 feet? Shouldn't we go higher?"

Rick shook his head. "GRIMM aren't the only thing to worry about here. We're damned close to Branwen territory."

_Branwen._ Weiss knew the name, of course; Qrow Branwen was Ruby and Yang's uncle. _God, Raven Branwen! Yang's mother._ "Any relation to Raven Branwen?"

"Yep. She runs the gang. Well, they call it a 'tribe,' but it's basically a gang." He pointed to the west. Through the heat haze Weiss could see distant mountains. "They usually operate out of what's left of LA. I'm hoping they won't bother with an old Antonov."

"How would they even know?"

Rick smiled. "Miss Schnee, they marked us the moment we took off out of Phoenix. The Branwens watch the airports. If we were carrying something they really needed—money, electronics, spare parts for aircraft—they'd force us down." He nodded back towards the pallets. "Those are airliner engines, too big for anything they fly. Probably won't be worth their time."

"What happens if they _do_ show up?"

Rick checked the navigational display and made a slight turn to the left. "If it's one or two, we might could make a fight of it. That's why I'm at 18,000. We can get low and slow, and they'll stall out trying to get us, and we can maybe take one out with the tail guns."

"What if they send out five or six?"

He laughed without humor. "Then we do what they tell us. Generally speaking, the Branwens are pretty friendly to cargo pilots. They take the cargo, sometimes the airplane if it's something they can use. Then they let you go. Nine times out of ten." He shrugged. "But sometimes they just kill you. Depends on if it's the head bitch or it's one of her underlings…and what kind of mood Miss Branwen is in." He glanced at her. "Let's hope that doesn't happen. I doubt the Branwens would kill me, but they more than likely would grab you for ransom."

It was Weiss' turn to laugh. "They wouldn't get much."

Whatever Rick was going to say in reply would never be known, because his eyes suddenly went to the left side of the aircraft. "Oh, shit."

Weiss immediately got up and looked: any time a pilot said those words, it was bad. She opened her mouth to ask what he had seen, but then saw it herself, about fifteen miles ahead and below. Something was on fire, leaving a smoke trail. She looked at the radar display. There was a blip there, at the edge. The Antonov's radar was designed only to avoid collisions; it didn't have anywhere near the range or capability of her Typhoon's.

Rick switched on the radio. "Mayday, mayday!" blasted from the speaker. "This is Interjet Flight 929, we are under attack from GRIMM! We have lost an engine and my copilot is dead!" The voice was high, almost hysterical—not that Weiss could blame them.

Weiss wondered if that message would go unheard, but to her surprise, she heard a reply. "Interjet, this is Starbase. Squawk 7700 for a fix. State souls on board and type." On the radar display, rings appeared around the blip as the Interjet flight switched their transponder to its emergency setting. "Interjet, Starbase, we've got you. Will relay to Tijuana and sending CAP your way."

"Starbase, Interjet; 30 souls onboard, type 737. ETA, Starbase?" The Interjet pilot sounded out of breath.

"Starbase CAP ETA two-zero minutes." Interjet was silent at that.

"Starbase," Weiss observed. "I think that's the _Enterprise,_ CVN-65."

"Yeah, she should be on station out west of San Clemente." Rick gently pushed her back towards the copilot seat, opened the throttles up, and began a gradual descent. "I just hope those GRIMM didn't detect us."

Weiss strapped in as the An-12 descended towards the mountains—the Chocolate Mountains, she noticed on the navigational display. Rick throttled back: at full power, the Antonov left a smoke trail a blind man could follow. "Starbase, Interjet," the flight radioed. The voice was strangely calm now. "Lost our other engine. We're going down. Repeat, Interjet Flight 929 is going down, Chiriaco Summit. Trying to land on old interstate—" The voice suddenly cut off. Weiss leaned forward in her seat. There was a sudden blossom of orange to the right, then an ugly blossom of black smoke.

Rick divided his attention between the altimeter, the navigational display, and the sky. "Fuck!" he cursed, and pointed. "The bastards have spotted us." Weiss nodded, her stomach doing a somersault. They could see the specks of the GRIMM as they curved away from the funeral pyre of Interjet Flight 929, climbing back towards the An-12. He pushed up the throttles again and toggled the radio. "Starbase, Autumn Charter Flight 13. Interjet is down; doesn't look like any survivors. GRIMM are turning towards us. We could use that CAP, over."

"Roger, Autumn. Squawk, if you could—"

"No dice, Starbase; GRIMM home in on that. Our location is over the Chocolate Mountains, heading one-five-zero, angels 12, speed two hundred fifty."

"Autumn, Starbase, we have you. ETA one-eight minutes."

"Roger, Starbase. If we're still here, we'll be happy for the company." Rick tightened his straps. "Weiss, get back on the turret! We're going to have to stand tall!"

"On it!" Weiss unstrapped and jumped out of the cockpit. She raced between the crates tied down in the fuselage, keeping her footing in the diving turn Rick was flying, then clambered up the ladder into the tail. The turret was narrow, but she was able to squeeze into the seat. She gripped the twin handles that moved and fired the two Nudelman-Rikhter NR-23 23mm cannon that stuck out from under the tail. She found herself smiling. "I think I've seen this movie."

Rick added to that by yelling "Here they come! Raid count six Lancers!"

_Lancers!_ Weiss thought with alarm. She'd heard of them, but never seen one. Lancers were one of the smallest GRIMM types, little more than a tiny jet engine, circular wings, and a narrow fuselage. They were rarely seen in air combat, because they were little more than kamikazes. Usually a larger GRIMM like a Nevermore carried them: they would seek out and destroy any target, and would loiter for up to two or three hours. Despite being fast, they were not very maneuverable; she could fly rings around them in her _Myrtenaster,_ taking them out at range with missiles. Against something slow like the An-12, however, they would be deadly.

The Lancers swung back around, splitting into two groups, port and starboard, to bracket the An-12. Weiss flipped up the sight on the turret, waited a half second, and opened fire. Her first shots missed the nearest Lancer. _Calm down, Weiss,_ she commanded herself. _Pick your target and concentrate on that. Nothing else exists._

The Lancer suddenly put on a burst of speed, but Weiss twisted the turret to the right and fired. The shells tore the small GRIMM to pieces, and it exploded a moment later. "Splash one!"

"Great, kid! Don't get cocky!"

Weiss rolled her eyes. _We're about to die, and he's quoting old movies._ Then she was thrown into the side of the turret as Rick suddenly threw the An-12 into a hard left turn. The turret only had limited vision to the front and sides; Weiss hadn't seen one of the starboard-side Lancers climb and dive, aiming for the wing. It dived past and missed, beginning to climb to reacquire. Weiss, holding onto the handles, saw a Lancer fly directly across her gunsight, and she squeezed the triggers. It was a snapshot, but it worked: the GRIMM blew apart. "Splash two!"

"Hold on!" Rick hauled back on the control wheel with all he had, and the Antonov groaned with the strain; it pulled out about two hundred feet above the floor of a narrow pass through the mountains. Weiss was treated to the rather disconcerting sight of sheer rock walls rising _above_ her. One of the Lancers tried to follow the old transport out of the dive, and hit the ground instead. "Splash three! That one's yours, Rick!" she called out. Weiss craned her head towards the windows and she got back in the turret seat. "Two to starboard, one to port!"

"Roger!" Rick gritted out, slamming the wheel to the right to avoid a Joshua tree covered ridge, then leveled out, but only for a second. Then he was climbing over another hump. Ahead was open ground, a beach, and the Salton Sea. "It's gonna get sporty, Weiss!" He keyed the mike. "Starbase, Autumn, we've got Lancers all over us! CAP ETA!"

"Autumn, this is Fast Eagle Five-Two. We're supersonic; ETA six minutes."

"Rick, level out!" Weiss had fired a few more shots, but the turret was a bit slow, and she missed. The Antonov's wings leveled, Weiss aimed down the gunsight. The Lancer's tiny brain had apparently decided that its best means of destroying its target was to hit the tail. Weiss' mouth felt dry; if she missed this shot, she would no longer have to worry about her problems. She waited a precious moment, ignored her suddenly full bladder, and fired. The GRIMM disintegrated under the heavy shells. "Splash four."

"Hold on!" Rick said again, and this time Weiss felt herself pulled towards the low ceiling of the turret as the An-12 dived. The mountains disappeared behind them, then there was a stretch of dusty land, an old overgrown road, and then water. Weiss' stomach lurched: Rick had them a bare hundred feet above the Salton Sea. His sudden dive had worked, however: Weiss saw another Lancer try to race ahead of them, get too low, make one bounce off the water, and cartwheel into an explosion. "Splash five! Literally!" She hauled the turret to the right, seeing out of the corner of one eye the Lancer tearing in towards the left wing. It overshot, but climbed, rolled, and came in for another try.

"Rick, slow down!" she ordered.

"Like hell!" Rick shouted back.

"I'm trying to kill this damned GRIMM!" she snapped. "Now slow down!"

Rick threw down the flaps. The Antonov lost speed. The Lancer, sensing a kill, accelerated, so fast it was nearly a blur. Weiss, however, was not watching the GRIMM: she was pointing the guns ahead of it. She opened fire. It was a deflection shot, the most difficult of all firing solutions, but it was also simple math: she fired ahead of the Lancer, filling the air with shells, and the drone simply flew into them. A split second later, it exploded, the pieces falling into the water. The engines howled as Rick raised the flaps and applied power; the An-12 sluggishly hovered at the edge of a stall—Weiss tried to remember if the Salton Sea was the one that someone could just float in, due to the high salt content—but then it began to accelerate. "Splash six! We're clear!"

Rick let out a war whoop, and Weiss laughed, pounding the side of the turret. They'd made it. She laughed even harder when she realized that now she could add four kills to her total—if she ever got to fly a fighter again. Her fingers shook, but the adrenaline felt good. _16 kills. Ha! Puts me ahead of Ruby._

Then she saw another speck, above and behind them. It rapidly grew into the unmistakable form of a GRIMM. "Oh shit!" Weiss screamed. "Rick, check six! Ursa! _Ursa!"_ She grabbed the handles and pulled the guns upwards, but the Ursa was already making its run. She felt the Antonov shudder with hits, and black smoke suddenly burst from the number four engine. The only thing that saved their lives was that the Ursa overshot them; most of its heavy cannon fire went into the water.

"Lost number four!" Rick quickly pushed back that throttle, feathering the propeller, and hit the fire extinguishers. Caught low and at slow speed, he fought the An-12 out of another stall, but there was wing damage too. "Fast Eagle, Autumn, we're in deep shit! Lost an engine!"

"Fast Eagle, we're—what the hell is _that_ —" Fast Eagle's voice turned into a scream and cut off. Rick heard the other Fast Eagle report to the _Enterprise_ that he was under attack from a high-speed aircraft, then he was cut off as well.

* * *

Weiss heard it, but the more pressing problem was the Ursa. It was coming in, this time ranging shots towards the left wing. She slewed the turret around, and opened fire; the 23 millimeters spoke five times and then stopped. She was out of ammunition.

It was enough, but just barely. The Ursa sparked, staggered, and dived. Weiss thought she'd gotten it, but then it suddenly pitched upwards, leveled out, and fired two missiles, before its starboard wing tore free and it spiraled into the water. Weiss braced herself.

The missile shots were hasty, and one missed, sailing past the cockpit to explode harmlessly ahead. The other tracked true, and struck between the number one and two engines. Fuel ignited, followed by both engines failing. Rick hit the fire extinguishers again. "Weiss! Get up here!" Weiss pulled off her headset, dropped out of the turret, and ran forward, nearly falling as the An-12 began to heel over towards the dead engines. She instantly sensed the problem and dropped into the copilot's seat, grabbing the control wheel. Rick stole a moment to feather the damaged engines. "How far can we fly on one engine?" Weiss asked.

"Not far," he replied. "And we'll lose the wing before long either. Did you get the GRIMM?"

"Yeah. Where's the Navy?"

"Don't know. They radioed they were under attack. I have a very bad feeling about this." Another alarm warbled on the instrument panel. "Fuck! Number three's overheating. We're going to have to put this bitch down."

Weiss pointed. "The beach."

"Yeah, worth a shot." Rick keyed the mike. "Starbase, Fast Eagle, I don't know if you're still out there, but this is Autumn. We're going down. Going to try and land at coordinates 33'12 by 115'51." There was no response; Weiss saw that there were high mountains between them and the Pacific, an easy hundred miles away. The carrier might not have heard them.

Rick kept the number three engine as high of a speed as it could go, then dropped the flaps. "Keep her nose up. She's going to pull to the left."

"Got it." Weiss nearly had the control wheel wrenched out of her hands, so she put her arms underneath it and pulled back. The nose came up and stayed there. Rick kept the gear up; a belly landing in this scenario might work better. The altimeter wound down as the water disappeared beneath them, then they felt the transport shudder as the tail hit first. A grinding noise resounded through the aircraft, followed by the entire airframe shaking. Weiss let go of the control wheel rather than have her arms broken by it, as the nose came down and dug into the sand. The soft sand gripped the An-12, and it slowed gradually to a halt with the sound of glass shattering from the nose cone. Then they stopped. Rick stopped the number three engine before it tore itself apart. The two exchanged looks, grinned at each other, then both smelled gasoline.

"Get out!" Rick yelled. Weiss dropped out of the seat and headed for the crew door. Luckily, it hadn't buckled, and she was able to get it open. Rick dropped into the navigator station, grabbed his M4, and followed her out the door. They ran for the salty surf, slid to a halt, and waited.

It was silent, other than the ticking of the engines of the transport.

After ten minutes, Rick sighed. "Okay. I don't think she's going to blow. Let's grab some supplies. We may be here awhile."

"Right." Weiss followed him back to the Antonov. It was a bad situation, she reflected, but not an impossible one. Assuming the aircraft didn't explode, it would give them shelter from the sun and the night chill, and they had enough emergency supplies to last awhile. The Navy, the USAF, or the Mexican Air Force would— _might,_ Weiss corrected herself—send out a rescue mission. Assuming that the Branwens didn't find them first.

Something caught her eye, a flash of sun against metal in the sky. She felt the icy hand of fear—if it was another GRIMM, they were both dead—but whatever it was didn't attack. She stopped and shaded her eyes. "What is it?" Rick called back. He was at the aircraft.

"Something up high. Can't make it out." Weiss found herself wishing for Ruby's silver eyes, that could pick out stars in the daytime.

"Let's hope it's one of the Navy guys." She followed him into the transport, and they quickly gathered supplies. There were still gasoline fumes, and it would be a good idea to get away from the aircraft until they dissipated. Weiss saw the ruins of an old house some distance away; little more than adobe walls, but better than nothing. "How's our water?" she asked.

"Not great. And we can't drink from the Salton Sea; it's more salty than the ocean." Rick hopped out of the Antonov and pointed south. "I think I saw a brook over in that direction, so we can move that way. But we should have enough water for today."

They began to trudge through the sand to the ruined house. Weiss looked upwards; the distant aircraft was gone. Then her eyes caught movement—not in the sky, but to the right, in the sand dunes. _"Down!"_ she shouted, and pulled Rick into the sand. A shot rang out, and the sand puffed in front of them.

"Run!" Rick said, rather unnecessarily, as Weiss was already up and moving. He raised the M4 and fired three rounds in the general direction of the shot, then raced after Weiss. Another shot cracked past them, but then they were over the adobe walls.

"Are they Branwen's people?" Weiss asked.

"How the hell should I know?" Rick shot back. He braced the M4 against the wall and fired a shot, then ducked down as a fusillade of bullets struck the wall. "Whoever they are, they're armed. Speaking of which, do you have something?" Weiss pulled the PPK from her duffel. Rick snorted, reached into his bag, and threw her a M1911. "You need something with a bit more range."

"Assuming this doesn't break my arm." Weiss winced as a piece of adobe flew off and nearly hit her in the face.

Rick cocked an ear. "Sounds like a couple of hunting rifles, maybe an AK or two. They might be local scavengers. A lot of people live off whatever they can find out here, then sell it to the Branwens or the Mexican cartels. They don't take prisoners." Another shot spanged off the wall, crumbling more adobe. Then, without warning, there was a bloodcurdling yell, and a dozen people, dressed in odds and ends of clothing and armed with sharpened pieces of metal, charged the house.

Rick rose up for a moment, aimed, and fired the M203. The grenade spiraled out and exploded in the middle of the group, throwing them back in a spray of blood and sand. About five turned and ran back to the cover of the dunes, while a sixth managed to crawl back under cover. The other half dozen lay still.

"Well done," Weiss complimented. "They won't try that again."

Rick got back down. "Yeah, but that was also my one grenade."

Weiss leaned back around the wall. "There's six of them trying to flank us." There was a shot, and she ducked back under cover, but it was Rick that fired. Another quick glance, and one of the scavengers was lying face down, a scoped rifle sliding down a dune, along with a good portion of the sniper's skull. "Nice shot."

"Lucky." Rick spit on the M4 to get some of the dust off of it.

Behind him, Weiss saw someone stand up. They held a bottle with a rag stuffed in it, raising it to throw. Weiss brought up the pistol and fired twice. The .45 bullets threw the scavenger backwards, and the Molotov cocktail thumped harmlessly into the sand. Rick shook his head to clear the ringing; Weiss had nearly fired it next to his ear. "Nice shot."

Weiss flexed her fingers. "Lucky."

Rick popped back over the wall and fired off two three-round bursts, the ducked back down. "You're right. They're trying to flank us, all right. Let's switch." Weiss handed him the pistol, and accepted the M4, thinking to herself that, between this place and Beacon, she might as well have joined the army. "I'll take care of the flankers," Rick told her. "The rest of them are going to try and cover them when they rush us. You keep _their_ heads down."

"Roger that."

Rick stole a quick look. "Here they come! Let 'em have it!"

Weiss stood and braced the M4. Sure enough, a few heads popped up above the dunes. Weiss carefully fired at each before they could shoot at her, aiming down the ACOG sight and firing single rounds; she had no idea if Rick had extra magazines. Two fell dead, and the rest took no further interest. That left the five men charging the house without cover. Rick rolled out from behind the wall, raised the M1911, and fired, emptying the magazine. He only missed twice; three tumbled to the ground. The other two hesitated, fatally, as Weiss swung the M4 around and killed them. Then they got back under cover. Rick slapped a new magazine into the M1911, then reached into the duffel and pulled out another for the M4. "Last one."

"You didn't carry more?" Weiss asked as she reloaded. "I thought you said you flew into some rough places!"

"Yeah, but I usually didn't have to shoot this much." He made a quick inspection of their handiwork. "We've gotten over a dozen of the bastards. That takes care of the boys, now bring on the men!"

Then they heard the sound of engines. Weiss was the one who looked. Chugging down the old highway was an old garbage truck, with heavy slabs of steel crudely welded to the side. The truck sounded like it wasn't long for this world, but it didn't have to be. Weiss gave Rick a dirty look. "You just _had_ to say something. I don't suppose you have a LAW or something handy?"

"Can't say as I do." Rick crawled forward. "There's that Molotov cocktail that dead guy dropped. Maybe if the truck gets close enough, we can toss that." Rick sounded like he didn't have a lot of confidence in his plan. Neither did Weiss. "We'll have to let them get in close."

"Wait." Weiss held up a hand. It was silent, except for the chugging of the truck and the odd angry shot against the adobe. "Do you hear that?"

"I don't hear—" Then Rick did hear it, and grinned. "Hot damn, a helicopter!"

The sound was now unmistakable, and loud enough to hear over any noise: the clattering, eggbeating sound of a UH-1, the immortal Huey. It came in from over the mountains, turned over the Antonov, then settled over the Salton Sea. It turned, and fired a fusillade of rockets. The garbage truck was torn apart under the rocket hits, stopped, and burned. Then the helicopter turned again, this time firing machine guns into the sand dunes. If anyone survived the strafing, they stayed out of sight. Rick and Weiss cheered, then hugged each other. The Huey was the light gray of the US Marine Corps. It hovered over them, then landed a short distance away in a spray of sand. The rotors slowed, and through the manmade dust storm, they saw figures moving towards them. Rick slapped Weiss on the shoulder, got her to her feet, and raised the pistol over his head, waving towards them. "Yo, jarheads! Glad to see you bast—"

The shot took Rick high in the chest, throwing him backwards into Weiss. Both went down. Weiss got out from under him, and looked down. Blood ran from the wound, in the center of the chest. "What the hell?" Rick croaked, sounding more surprised than hurt.

Then Weiss saw. The men and women who stepped out of the sandstorm were dressed similarly to the scavengers, but moved with far more precision, fanning out to flank the adobe house, covering those checking the dead. In the center, dressed in a black flight suit with red highlights, was a woman with reddish eyes and black hair, a sword at her side. She strode up to them, and Weiss knew instantly who it was. The family resemblance was unmistakable. "Raven."

Raven Branwen stopped, eyes widening in surprise. "I'll be damned. Weiss Schnee."

One of her men walked up to her, his M16 pointed in their direction. "What do you think, ma'am?" he asked.

"I think we just hit the jackpot." She waved two of her troops forward. "Take her. If she resists, break one of her limbs." Weiss raised her hands and rose. The M4 was underneath Rick, and she knew she would die if she raised it. The PPK was somewhere in the sand. The men quickly pulled her hands down behind her, and she felt them ziptie her wrists together. She dug her heels in the sand and faced Raven. "Don't kill him," she said, nodding at Rick.

"He's already dead." Raven motioned to her troops, who began pushing Weiss along. Raven knelt next to Rick, expertly looking at the wound. She drew her sword. "You're going to bleed out, one way or another. Any last words?"

Rick grinned at her through bloodstained teeth. "Fuck you."

Raven smiled. "Nice." Then she raised the sword and plunged it into Rick Tardor's throat. The last Weiss would ever see of him was one of Raven's men dragging him into the surf of the Salton Sea. It was also the last thing she saw for awhile period, as a black hood was dragged over her face.


	25. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Weiss missing and presumed captured by Raven, Yang is sent to find her. Lionheart and Watts meet with Salem, revealing the location of the Spring Maiden...and Lionheart's strangely defiant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the tragic excitement from last chapter, it's time for something of a cool-down chapter, but a rather important one. Time to check in with Yang...and Salem.

_The Xiao Long-Rose House_

_Near Patch, North Carolina_

_14 June 2001_

"And that's all we know," Rissa Arashikaze sighed, cradling her coffee. "The An-12 went down over the Salton Sea. The Navy sent out a recon today, and saw the wreckage on the shoreline. The crash looks survivable, and bodies were sighted around the aircraft. None were Weiss. It looks like a helicopter landed as well."

Yang Xiao Long looked down at her artificial hand. It twitched slightly. Taiyang put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "So Raven has her," she said.

"That's my guess. Not just her, either—one of my operatives, Rick Tardor, too." Rissa was silent for a moment. "He's a good man. A very good man. I hope I don't lose him."

"What's the Navy going to do?" Taiyang asked.

"The skipper of the _Enterprise_ is angry, to say the least," Rissa replied. "He lost two men, too. No bailout on either one of the Super Hornet pilots. The report said that both were shot down in rapid succession by a high-speed aircraft."

"The Night Raven," Yang said softly. "Raven saved my ass with it over Mountain Glenn."

"Given that the Navy only got a partial radar hit off of it when it fired, I'd say so." Rissa drank the rest of her coffee. "The CNO won't be ordering an airstrike on Raven's camp, but only because he's worried about casualties. And I'm worried about Weiss Schnee and Rick Tardor getting killed by friendly fire. But if Raven pulls another one of these stunts, the Navy will hit her with an alpha strike from more than just the _Enterprise._ The _Saratoga_ and the _Nimitz_ are out there too. And if Raven really _does_ have the Spring Maiden, then she'll take a shot at one of the carriers. That we don't need."

"Which brings you to me," Yang told her.

Rissa smiled, though there wasn't much humor in it. "Which brings me to you." She pushed aside the coffee, reached into her briefcase, and pulled out a file folder. "This is what we have on the Branwen tribe. It's not much; maybe your father can add more to it. Memorize this stuff; do _not_ take it with you."

"I'm leaving?" Yang asked.

"If you think you're ready. Major Oum thinks you could use another two weeks, but I've got doctors at Savannah popping corks over how well you've adapted to using that arm. A few of them had money on you never getting back into the cockpit at all." Rissa pulled out an envelope and pushed it across to her. "Your orders, detaching you to the 35th Fighter Wing at Misawa. Your sister and Reaper Flight are at Atsugi. Obstensibly, you're going there to flight test the F-23 in a combat environment. When you get there, you're to report either to Major Qrow Branwen or Captain Ruby Rose."

Despite the situation, Yang laughed. "Oh God. I'm going to be under Ruby's orders?"

"Technically, Major Branwen is the senior officer, but Captain Rose does command Reaper Flight. It's the same arrangement you had at Beacon."

"Yeah, and Ruby never let me forget it." Yang nodded. "Anyhow, I'll stop on the way over at Raven's to pick up Weiss, right? It's going to be tough squeezing her into my single-seater."

Rissa blew out a breath. "I'm hoping you can persuade Raven Branwen, somehow—feminine wiles, trading on your status as her daughter, shoot her, whatever—to allow Weiss and Rick to cross the border into Tijuana. We can take it from there." She tapped the folder. "My recommendation is to fly to Las Vegas. Nellis got destroyed by the GRIMM a long time ago, but the Air Force still has a small presence at McCarran International. The local cartels allow it, because it protects them from the occasional GRIMM attack."

"Cartels?" Yang raised an eyebrow.

It was Taiyang who answered. "We went to Vegas a few times with Strike Flight. Las Vegas is only technically still part of the Remnant, pumpkin. It's controlled by various crime organizations—the Mafia, Chinese triad, yakuza, you name it. They're right there on the edge of the frontier. The whole place was abandoned after Nellis got destroyed, and wasn't brought back into the country until Reagan."

"And the locals have never forgiven the US government for abandoning them," Rissa finished. "Still, pilots are respected there, because you people keep the GRIMM away. You should be okay…as long as you don't start a fight or something. Branwen has people there, and they usually hang out at the Just Right Casino."

"Just Right?" It was Taiyang who looked curious now.

"Used to be the Tropicana. Under new management." Rissa's hand moved over the folder, tracing invisible patterns in it. "Probably her people will see you, and make contact. Tell them you want to see your mother—I know, I know, but play that angle, Yang—and if what you've told me about what Raven said to you at Beacon is true, they'll escort you to wherever her hideout currently is in California." She faced Yang squarely. "I've got people in Las Vegas that can help you; I'll have them shadowing you. But as soon as you cross into California, you're on your own. I don't have anyone with Branwen's bunch, unlike—" Rissa stopped herself, and Yang realized that the CIA woman had nearly slipped up.

"So what if Raven just decides to take me prisoner, too?" Yang wanted to know. "She's going to be pissed when I tell her I'm not joining her merry band of pirates."

Rissa paused. "Then tell her the United States government is one more incident from sending three carrier battlegroups and the 2nd Marine Division after her."

"She's pretty good at seeing through lies," Taiyang cautioned.

"It's not a lie," Rissa answered. "That doesn't leave this room. In fact, I wouldn't even tell the dog." Zwei perked up at that, got up, waddled over, and licked Rissa's ankle. "Okay, I guess the dog's all right." Rissa smiled, petting the corgi. "This is volunteer only, Yang. If you don't want to do it, I have other assets I can send after Weiss and Rick. But you're our best chance at getting them back alive."

Yang smiled back. "Well, I was getting bored anyway. I guess I volunteer."

"Thank you." In an uncharacteristic show of humanity, Rissa reached across and took her hands. "Thank you, Yang." She pushed the folder to her as well. "Bring that with you to Signal tomorrow. I'll see you off." She checked her watch. "And I need to be going. There's a hotel room bed that has my name on it. I haven't slept in over 24 hours." Yang thought that she was doing a good job of hiding it.

"Talk with you a minute, Miss Arashikaze?" Taiyang asked.

"I figured you would." She got up and followed Taiyang out the front door. When they were out of earshot in the front yard, in the humid sunlight and surrounded by the noise of june bugs, Rissa looked up at Taiyang. "I'm sending another of your daughters into the deep black," she said before he could speak. "So if you're here to tell me she's not ready and that I'm a horrible bitch and you want to kill me, I understand."

Taiyang chuckled. "Actually, I was going to tell you that you made the right choice. Raven has blind spots, Miss Arashikaze. Yang is one of them."

"She abandoned her."

"Raven is weird as hell, Miss Arashikaze. She actually thought she was doing Yang—and me—a favor by doing that. But she still cares for her daughter. Somehow, she managed to keep tabs on her throughout her childhood. To be honest, I think Raven managed to slip in to her high school graduation and when she graduated from flight school. If anyone can get Raven to let Weiss and your operative go without a fight, it's her." Taiyang sighed, looking over Rissa's shoulder—which wasn't hard; he towered over her—towards where Summer Rose's empty grave lay. "I don't want her to go. I don't know if she's ready. But Yang already made up her mind as soon as you mentioned Weiss." _Just like Ruby did,_ he reflected sadly. He'd raised his daughters with strong morals, and while sometimes he'd worried it hadn't taken with Yang as well as Ruby, he knew better now. And it was like a shot to the heart to know that Yang and Ruby were following their mother's footsteps far too closely for his liking. But just as he couldn't keep Ruby close, neither could he keep Yang. They were needed, and he had to let the little birds fly from the nest.

Rissa seemed to follow his thoughts. She was staring into the forest, though he could tell by the distance in her eyes she wasn't seeing the trees. "It's strange, isn't it," she said softly. "Wartime, I mean. How you can make lifelong friendships in a few weeks."

"It's one of the few decent things about war," Taiyang answered.

Rissa closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Taiyang saw her transform back into the CIA director again. She'd lapsed twice in his presence, showing the human behind the cold spymaster. "I need to be going," she said. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Xiao Long."

"You too, Miss Arashikaze."

Rissa began to walk towards her car, but paused. "Tell Yang that Rick is as important to me as Weiss is to her. He's my nephew." Then she resumed walking.

* * *

_Mount Iwaki Observatory_

_Aomori Prefecture, Japan_

_14 June 2001_

"Is this truly necessary?" Leonardo Lionheart puffed out. He sat down just inside the door and mopped the sweat from his brow.

Arthur Watts, on the other hand, was barely breathing hard. It had been a short, somewhat steep walk from the tram to the observatory, clinging to the side of Mount Iwaki. "I must admit it is a bit theatric," Watts admitted. "A secret communications facility, on the side of an active volcano. Very Ian Fleming." He motioned around the silent observatory. "The owner is a Faunus sympathetic to the White Fang. He gave the staff the day off, and me the keys." Watts pointed through a set of doors. "Mount Iwaki is quite useful. As the highest point in the Aomori Prefecture—"

"Yes, I know," Lionheart said. He slowly got to his feet. "We have better line of sight to the commercial satellites you're pirating to communicate with Salem. Shall we get on with it?"

"If you insist," Watts replied, slightly miffed at not being able to brag. He showed Lionheart through a set of doors to a reception area. Watts unlocked an unmarked door and followed Lionheart inside, always making sure the Faunus was ahead of him. There was a revolver in Watts' jacket; Lionheart might be important to the plan, but not as important as the hacker's life. He locked the door behind him, then took out a laptop and plugged it into another computer. Lionheart sat down again, still getting his breath, and after fifteen minutes, Watts was ready. He motioned the Air Vice Marshal forward towards a large screen. Static appeared, then derezzed into the face of Salem, slightly distorted by the bad signal. Neither could see much behind her but a picture window, and a shadow that Watts recognized as Cinder Fall.

Salem smiled and gave a small bow of her head. "Leonardo. Arthur."

"Salem," Leonardo replied. Watts turned at the malice in his voice, and Salem blinked in surprise.

Watts moved up to stand next to Lionheart. "Is the connection clear on your end? I'm routing it through two commercial communications satellites."

"Is it secure?" Lionheart asked.

"People in France will be wondering why MTV isn't working, but it's secure enough," Watts told him, then tapped on the screen. "Can you see us all right, Miss Salem, Miss Fall? Well, as clear as you _can_ see, Cinder."

Cinder stepped into full view. She was wearing the red cheongsam she'd begun favoring, her hair combed down to cover her ruined eye. "Fuck you, Watts."

"Oh, capital. I see you've recovered fully."

Salem threw a warning glance at both of them. "We're not wasting time with schoolyard bickering. Leonardo, do you have something to report?"

"I do," Lionheart replied, putting his hands behind his back. "I've…we've…found the Spring Maiden."

Salem leaned forward. "Is that so? Well done." She looked at Watts. "I should've sent you to Haven sooner, Arthur, if I'd known you were that good."

"As much as I'd like to, Miss Salem, I can't say either of us are to thank for this development. I suppose you could say a…little birdie told us?" He laughed a little at his joke.

"Oh?"

"Qrow Branwen arrived at Misawa yesterday," Lionheart put in. "He believes his sister Raven controls the Spring Maiden."

Cinder abruptly pushed her way forward. "Is _she_ with him?"

Watts knew who she was talking about, and was tempted to string Cinder along a little, but he answered, "Yes, Ruby Rose was in attendance." He fought down a smile as Salem gently pushed her back. Before she did, he could see Cinder's good eye twitching.

Salem got them back on track. "And you know of Raven Branwen's location?"

Lionheart answered her. "Somewhere in the Los Angeles area, Salem."

"I believe I know where, exactly," Watts added quickly.

The pale woman did not answer immediately. "Interesting, Leonardo. The last few times we've talked—which admittedly was several months ago-you've referred to me as Miss Salem and ma'am. You were rather afraid. Now you've dropped the honorific. You've become very brave, my lion." Her smile faded. "I won't forget what you've done for me, Leonardo. Do not forget everything I can do to you."

To everyone's surprise, Leonardo did not quail under her gaze. Instead, he remained standing in his spot, hands still behind his back. "If you want to know how I have become brave, Miss Salem—" he was not quite _that_ defiant under her threat "—then perhaps you can ask Cinder Fall behind you about my daughter."

Salem's expression did not change. "Your daughter was killed at Beacon, Leonardo. It was Ozpin's doing, not Cinder's."

"No," Lionheart replied coldly. "Cinder murdered Ruth."

Salem closed her eyes, rubbed them, then opened them again. "I see. I suppose I will have to deal with this. But later."

"You don't care, do you?" he snapped.

Salem shook her head. "I do not," she said simply.

Lionheart's hands came out from behind his back, fists balled, his lips working to stay down over his fangs. Watts took a step back, nervously fingering the revolver in his pocket. "She was my _daughter,_ Salem! You insisted that she go along as cover for Cinder and the others. She knew _nothing_ about the operation; she went because she thought it was a career opportunity, and it would be fun!" Now he did bare his teeth. "And that… _thing_ standing behind you had her killed!"

Salem's annoyance barely showed; just a small downturn of the bloodless lips. "Leonardo, let me repeat myself, and I will not do so again. You approached me all those years ago, after your wife died in that tragic airshow accident, because you believed my victory was inevitable and you were tired of fighting me. Quite the wise choice, I might add. But I do not care about Ruth Lionheart. She was not my responsibility. If her death has jeopardized the operation, then I will deal with it, in my own time and manner."

"I demand justice," Lionheart snarled. Watts took another step back.

"You are in a position to demand nothing," Salem said, her voice even, all the more frightening because she was not yelling back at him. "You know how far my tentacles reach. A phone call to one of my people inside of MI6, and they tell Menzies all about your cooperation with me. Can you tell me what would happen next, Leonardo?"

His hands slowly opened, and he hung his head. "Disgrace. Public disgrace. Court-martial. Prison."

"Most certainly," Salem agreed. "And the dragging of the Lionheart name through the mud of every British and Menagerie tabloid there is. Your wife's memory, forever tainted. Poor Ruth's memory as well. A few choice words, and I'll have Ruth implicated in your plot. You'll be forever known as traitors, mentioned in the same breath as Guy Fawkes and Oswald Mosley." She shook her head. "Leonardo, I do not want that to happen. Neither do you. Remember that none of you are irreplacable." She turned to Cinder. "None of you."

Lionheart sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right. Enough of that. We are wasting time." She turned her attention to Watts. "I want you back here, Arthur. Cinder and her team will join you, and go to California. Convince Raven Branwen that her continued survival, and that of her tribe, depends on her cooperation. She won't give up the Spring Maiden, but once you convince her to join us, contact Hazel. I've already sent him out of Japan back to Britain to coordinate with the White Fang. They've been promised the destruction of Haven, and they'll have it. It will be a diversion from our true objective."

"JINN," Watts grinned. The thought of getting his hands on that operating system was like the hit from a drug.

"Once Haven is destroyed, securing JINN should be no difficulty." Salem suddenly smiled. "No, Arthur, I have not forgotten our little computerized tattletale."

"Thank you, Miss Salem." He smoothed his mustache. "There is a flight from Tokyo to Phoenix tonight. It would be no trouble to get into California from Las Vegas."

"No, I need you back here," Salem said. "I'm afraid Tyrian's aircraft is in need of repair."

"What happened to it?"

Salem's smile became wry. "Guess."

"Our favorite silver-eyed girl?"

"The same."

"I will leave later tonight."

"Good," Salem answered. "I believe that is all for now. Arthur, I will see you here presently. Leonardo…remember our talk. I would hate to see you disgraced in the dock. I would hate it more to simply have you killed and your body thrown in a sewage ditch." The image derezzed back to static, and Watts switched it off.

"I need some air," Lionheart said.

"It will take me some time to get everything unplugged," Watts told him. "I do hope you're not going to do anything rash, old boy."

Lionheart visibly fought down the urge to strangle him. "I've got nowhere to run," he replied bitterly. "Disgrace, death, or Salem's victory." Before Watts could answer, he threw open the door and stalked out of the observatory. Watts watched him go, touched the pistol reassuringly, and went back to his work.

In the clear mountain air, Lionheart took great draughts of it. "You made a mistake, Salem," he whispered, as if the woman could hear him from Siberia. "You assume that I'm still afraid to die." He too ran his fingers over something in his pocket, but it was not a pistol. It was a note. On it, Lionheart knew, was a number to a certain Rissa Arashikaze. All he needed was time away from Arthur Watts, and Salem had just given it to him.

* * *

_Mount Yamantau_

_Ural Mountains, Russia Dead Zone_

_14 June 2001_

Salem looked at the dark television monitor on her table for a few moments, then pushed it back down into the table. She stood, stretched, turned to Cinder, and without warning grabbed her around the throat, slamming her against the heavy, high-backed chair. "You stupid bitch," she hissed. Cinder was caught completely by surprise; Salem had never shown any predilection towards physical violence, but now the alabaster fingers were closing around her windpipe. "You murdered Lionheart's _daughter?_ " The fingers tightened.

"N-No," Cinder croaked out. "I-I-didn't—"

"Then he's lying?"

Darkness appeared at the edges of Cinder's eyesight. Salem had always seemed so slight, even a little sickly, with her moon-pale skin. Her grip was like iron. "No…" she managed to gasp out. Somehow, she got enough of a breath to say "Mercury…"

Salem kept the pressure on for a moment, then let go. Cinder collapsed, coughing, trying to get her breath back. Salem stood over her. "When you can breathe again, explain. I was under the impression that Ruth Lionheart had died in her sleep, in a rather fortunate coincidence. _He_ should've been under the impression that she died as a result of Ozpin's ineptitude. It was another way to control him."

Cinder coughed and wheezed for a good five minutes before she could speak coherently again. "Ruth found out…about my attempt to kill two of the Vytal Flag attendees. I had managed to fend her off by claiming it was friendly fire...but Mercury…he thought we were blown. So he smothered her to death."

"How does Lionheart know?"

"I don't know," Cinder said, with another cough. She weakly pulled herself up with her artificial arm. "Ozpin might have found out, somehow."

"He was smart enough to deduce it was no accident. And he would have told Lionheart." Salem tapped her chin in thought. "That explains Lionheart's sudden defiance."

"Will you kill him?"

"No. Not yet," Salem said. "We need him, for now. He still fears disgrace, even if he may no longer fear death. That was always his blind spot—he wanted Ruth to live in peace, even if it was a peace under my rule. Still, the thought of his family's name being destroyed will keep him in line."

"Will you kill Mercury?" Cinder was reasonably assured that Salem wasn't going to kill _her,_ at least. Mercury Black's death would be no loss to the world.

Salem was silent for a moment, considering. "No. You may still have use of him. And I hold _you_ responsible for this, Cinder. He was under your command, and commanders are ultimately responsible for the actions of their subordinates." She moved past Cinder to the picture window, staring down at the GRIMM production facility. "Do you want to go after Ruby Rose?"

"Yes," Cinder said, trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

"Well," Salem replied, facing her, "you're not going to. Not now. Consider it your punishment for turning Lionheart from a frightened old Faunus to a defiant one. You're going to California." Cinder opened her mouth, then closed it. "Do you have something to say?"

"Why are we working with bandits? Aren't we strong enough to simply _take_ the Spring Maiden away from Branwen?"

Salem laughed. "Cinder, Cinder, Cinder. When will you learn? You are always going to need useful idiots…and fear is always a weapon for those who know how to use it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salem makes a reference to Guy Fawkes and Oswald Mosley in this chapter. The former is probably familiar to modern readers (though Guy Fawkes wasn't the misunderstood hero "V For Vendetta" kind of made him out to be), but the latter might not be. Mosley was the leader of the British Union of Fascists before World War II. During the war, he was imprisoned, though released after the war was over. He tried to reenter politics, failed, and lived out the rest of his life more or less quietly until he died in 1980. In this world, he might have done more, which is why Salem knows of him...


	26. The End of the Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sienna Khan goes to the Menagerie Council, to assume Charles Tabey's seat. But she's in for a surprise...and not just from Ghira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A looong chapter, but one I didn't want to divide up. We finally resolve the political situation in Menagerie. 
> 
> For those of you who don't find this their cuppa joe, don't worry-there will be a good old-fashioned bar fight next chapter. Yang is going to Las Vegas...

_Lecket Hill_

_Near Glasgow, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_15 June 2001_

Sienna Khan settled the cape over her shoulders, then admired herself in the full-length mirror. For someone on the far side of 30, she was still quite attractive. She flicked off a piece of lint, and checked for any more problems with her appearance. Today, she needed to be perfect.

There was a knock at her door. "Come in," Sienna instructed. Ilia Amitola walked in and bowed her head respectfully. "Adam Taurus to see you, High Leader."

 _Great,_ Sienna thought morosely. _What the hell does he want?_ Adam was supposed to be laying low in northern Scotland. If he was spotted this close to Glasgow, it could cause issues. "Well, show him in," she sighed. Ilia bowed again and retreated, replaced by Adam. He was dressed in his black flight suit, the always-present sword at his side. He bowed as well, deeper and longer than Ilia had. "Good morning, High Leader."

Sienna touched up her hair. "Good morning, Adam. May I ask what you're doing here?"

"Two reasons, High Leader. First of all, congratulations on your election to the Menagerie High Council."

Sienna couldn't help but smile. "It's not official yet, Adam, but thank you. And your second reason?"

"The attack on Haven has been pushed back."

She added one last flourish to her hair, and turned to face him. "Only temporarily. The plan still goes forward, Adam, but for now we have to delay it."

"Politics," he snarled.

Sienna ignored his tone of voice. "Yes, politics. The extension of war by other means, as you may recall." She smoothed her cape. "Right now, I'm being watched—not just by MI6, but by the press. My appointment to the High Council makes me a more public figure. This only helps our cause, Adam. It's another front to the war—and in fact may do more good than any military operation would."

"Are you thinking about canceling the operation?" Adam asked.

It took Sienna aback for a moment. When she had heard of Charles Tabey's death—though assassination would be a better word, she reflected—she had strongly considered canceling the Haven operation. She was known as the High Leader of the White Fang, and too many of the wrong people would ask the wrong questions, such as if she had ordered the attack. But then, she had reconsidered: there were other advantages to attacking Haven. "I did consider it," she admitted. "But no—again, Adam, a war on many fronts. To say nothing of the fact that I do not want to offend our benefactor." Both knew she referred to Salem.

She saw the tightening of his hand on the sword hilt, and the slight downturn of his mouth, and inwardly sighed. Adam Taurus would always be the blunt instrument, would always be the attack dog she would sic on her enemies. He never seemed to understand that violence wasn't the answer, just the question—and sometimes the answer was no. She touched his shoulder. "Adam…you are a symbol for many in our organization, but that doesn't make you infallible. Remember that."

"I was merely trying to follow your example, High Leader." He followed her as they left Sienna's chambers for the main hall.

"And what example might that be?"

"Strength," he said. "Strength and unwavering conviction. The humans have seen that strength now, at Beacon, thanks to you."

Sienna laughed. "It's rather unlike you to kiss my ass, Adam. I should think that was a honor reserved for Blake Belladonna." She fought down a smile at the anger that flushed his cheeks. Occasionally Adam needed to be reminded who was High Leader. "In any case, you may recall that _I_ was one of the first to suggest violence where violence was necessary. Peace bred complacency and an acceptance of our 'place' in the world. I will not allow humanity to push us down without pushing them back. But we must be careful, Adam, and not place a larger target on our backs than we already have. We must not justify humanity's campaign against us. And we must be careful of empty promises from humans we do not know. We'll do our benefactor's little favor at Haven, but perhaps we must reconsider our relationship afterwards, depending on the outcome of the operation."

"We will succeed," Adam insisted.

"Of course we will," Sienna agreed. "But what happens if we don't?"

* * *

They strode into the main hall. Sienna expected it to be empty except for her guards, but to her surprise, a large, burly human stood there. Sienna glared at Adam. "What the hell is this?"

"Apologies," Hazel Rainart said, hands behind his back. He inclined his head respectfully. "I don't aim to cause any trouble."

"You've brought a _human_ to the hall?" Sienna didn't look at Hazel, but continued to stare at Adam.

"Didn't you a few days ago, with Neo Politan?" Adam pointed out.

"That was different," Sienna growled.

"You should hear what he has to say." Adam stood his ground.

Sienna checked her watch. There was time. She leaned against one of the chairs. "All right. Five minutes, Mr. Rainart. The only reason you're still breathing is that you're _her_ representative."

"Ma'am, please. No one needs to die today," Hazel rumbled. "You don't like me. You have no reason to like me. But you don't have to like me to get the results you want."

Sienna rolled her eyes. "I'm starting to wonder if _anyone_ understands what I want." She motioned at Hazel with a flippant wave of the hand. "So why are you here?"

"My…mistress wishes to know how the plan to attack Haven goes."

"It's been delayed for a week."

"Due to politics," Adam said contemptously.

Sienna shot him a murderous look. "As I said before—and will _not_ repeat—yes, due to politics. I will be elected to the Menagerie High Council today. The media will be beating a path to this hall. I can't be seen with either one of you."

"I've committed no crime," Hazel said.

"No, but your face is known to various intelligence agencies. MI6 is already watching me; I don't need the CIA on top of it." She pushed off the chair. "The attack on Haven _will_ go forward. That I promise. But it will go forward when _I_ order it, and not sooner." She pointed to Adam. "In the meantime, you need to get back to Lossiemouth. Take Hazel here with you. Give Neo her payment and let her go on her merry way. Continue the training of the first strike force; they will leave in a week. The second force will leave 48 hours after that. According to the plan."

Adam nodded. "According to the plan, High Leader."

Sienna paused, wanting to say more, but they were interrupted by Ilia. She stopped next to Hazel; against his bulk she looked even more childlike than usual. "Forgive the interruption, High Leader. MBC just announced that Ghira Belladonna will hold a press conference after today's vote."

The High Leader snorted. "Admitting defeat, no doubt. Well, Ghira's always been a sore loser." She nodded—half to Ilia, half to herself. "Ilia, I want you in the audience. Ghira may be a sore loser, but he's also a good talker. If he starts swaying the Faunus, I want you to denounce him. Publicly."

Ilia was silent for a moment, and she looked worried when she spoke. "They'll arrest me."

"For what? Exercising your right to free speech? Besides, even if they did, you'd be out by nightfall. I'll see to that."

The chameleon Faunus looked far from convinced, but she bowed. "By your command, High Leader."

"Good." Sienna smiled at all of them, feeling expansive. "Gentlemen and lady, there is no reason for long faces. Today the White Fang have won a great victory." She turned and left them, motioning for Ilia and her guards to follow. Hazel and Adam were left alone in the hall.

Adam took his hand away from his sword and flexed it. Hazel watched him for a moment. "Should we go?"

"Yes." He led Hazel out the rear entrance of Lecket Hill. There was a helicopter with White Fang sigils painted on it, the one legitimate aircraft the organization owned. "She's a fool!" Adam suddenly exploded, as they left the house.

Hazel would have preferred to keep quiet. He didn't like Adam Taurus, and thought if someone was a fool, it was him. Still, Salem would want to know if there was dissension in the White Fang, which there apparently was. "How so?"

Adam stopped, and looked back at Lecket Hill with contempt. "Sienna gets elected to a seat— _if_ she gets elected to the seat—and she thinks it's a 'great victory.'" He chuckled mirthlessly. "Victory has defeated her. She won't order the attack on Haven, Hazel…and even if she does, it's only because she's afraid of your mistress."

"She has a good reason to be," Hazel replied. "But I don't care if she's doing it because she wants to or because she's compelled to."

"I do," Adam said. He smiled. Hazel didn't like that smile. Adam was wearing his mask as he always did, but Hazel suspected the smile wasn't reaching the eyes. "Do you know what was going to happen if Charles Tabey hadn't picked now to drop dead? She was going to betray me to the Council. She was going to say that I, and I alone, planned and executed the attack on Beacon."

"I thought that was the idea. Plausible deniability."

"Throwing me under the bus, more like." Adam shook his head. "She thinks I'm stupid. She thinks I don't know."

"About what?" Hazel wanted to move this along, get in the helicopter, and go.

"That she tried to have Blake killed in the market last week. I had a talk with the would-be assassin just before I took his head off. She ordered the hit. Apparently, she thinks that Blake is my weakness." _She is,_ Hazel thought, but said nothing. Adam apparently needed to unburden himself, and he was willing to let the Faunus talk. "And she says she doesn't want the CIA watching us? The CIA is _already_ watching us."

Hazel's eyebrows rose. This was concerning. The last thing Salem or the plan needed was _two_ intelligence agencies alerted; MI6 was already too close for his comfort. "How?"

"Ilia. Ilia Amitola. The chameleon girl with the red hair you saw."

"Why not kill her?"

Adam shrugged. "I can't be sure. And if I'm wrong, then I've murdered a valuable member of the White Fang. But too many things have gone wrong around Ilia. Besides," he smiled again, "if she is a spy, we can use her as much as she uses us." He motioned towards the helicopter. "Let's go. Ilia isn't the only spy around here."

Hazel nodded, and followed Adam to the helicopter, musing to himself that Adam might not be willing to kill this Ilia, but he certainly was.

* * *

_The Menagerie Council Hall_

_Glasgow, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_15 June 2001_

The capitol of Menagerie was not a stone edifice, towering above the city, and it wasn't a castle on a hill. It was actually a rather modern looking building, all glass and steel; the only nod to its status as the political seat of the Faunus homeland was a large spire atop the building, flying the Menagerie flag. Inside, it was just as functional, to the point that both humans and Faunus complained that it was a little _too_ understated, as if the Faunus were afraid to admit their independence. The building, like its occupants the argument went, was too bureaucratic.

If so, the complainers would feel even more so about the hall where the Council met. It was a rather plain room, with the only real decorations being a mosaic of all the known species of Faunus and a few flags, including that of the White Fang—but the older White Fang flag, of blue with no claw marks. The eleven-person Council—ten at the moment—sat at a long table atop a low dais marked with plain lamps, the only luxury well upholstered chairs. Ghira Belladonna sat in the middle, his bulk dominating the table. The seat to his immediate right was empty; it had been Charles Tabey's.

Sienna Khan, walking into the chamber, smiled. It was going to be hers now.

She took a seat in the audience, in the front row. The place was full, every seat filled. Sienna was alone—her guards were not allowed, the Albains were outside the chamber, and Ilia had disappeared into the crowd gathering to hear Ghira's concession speech—but she felt confident. She noticed that Blake Belladonna and the monkey Faunus whose name Sienna couldn't remember were in the crowd, a few rows back; so was Kali Belladonna, though she sat in the first row as well, on the opposite side from the High Leader.

Her eyes met Ghira's, and she smiled. To her surprise, he smiled back. It was not the smile of someone who had just lost.

The clock softly chimed noon, and Ghira stood. The other nine members of the Council followed him. "As President of Menagerie, I call this meeting to order." He reached down and lightly tapped a hammer against a bell. All of the Council sat, and went through the usual motions of the meeting, approving minutes, voting for the day's agenda. Sienna crossed her legs, the one on the floor tapping impatiently in her sandals. She felt her claws itching in their sheaths, a sign of nervousness; she commanded herself to relax.

"The first and only item on the agenda," Ghira finally intoned. "A motion to fill the vacant seat of Sir Charles Tabey, may he rest in peace."

A hand went up from three seats to Ghira's left; a graying female with horns curving back from her hair around her ears. "The chair recognizes Marie Mata of Glasgow," Ghira said.

Mata stood. "I would like to propose a delay in filling the seat. Sir Tabey's funeral was yesterday. It hardly seems appropriate to fill the seat so soon." Sienna fought to keep silent. _Shut up, sheep,_ she wanted to shout, _and let the predators talk_.

Ghira shook his head. "It would seem so, Miss Mata, but Sir Tabey asked that the seat be filled 24 hours after his funeral. The Council agreed last year to do so. I see no reason to delay, but the Council will hear Miss Mata's motion. All in favor of a delay, raise your hand." Only Mata's hand went up. "The motion fails."

"Yes," Sienna whispered under her breath.

"As per his request, I shall read Sir Tabey's wishes according to his will. The recorder will note that the Council agreed to honor these wishes last year, and make them binding on the council. Unless there are any other motions to delay?" There were none, so Ghira put on his reading glasses, opened a leather folder, and took out a piece of paper. Sienna could see the Tabey seal atop the paper, and adjusted her cape, putting both feet on the floor. "'To the Menagerie Council, my friends, colleagues, and occasional enemies." A laugh went through the audience and the Council; Tabey was known for his wry sense of humor. "'If you are reading this, I have passed on to the great beyond. I am ready to meet God; I am not sure if He is ready to meet me.'" Another laugh; Tabey was now quoting Churchill. "'Last year, due to my continually deteriorating health, the Council brought up who should temporarily fill my seat until an election is held. I had strongly considered Sienna Khan for this position. While her methods are rather direct, her love for the Faunus people is not to be questioned.'"

Sienna smiled, but then brought herself up short. _Had?_

"'Unfortunately,'" Ghira continued to read, "'it was recently brought to my attention that Sienna Khan's direct methods have gone beyond attacking our traditional enemies—humans that wish to use us and harm us rather than live alongside us. While violence is sometimes the answer to our problems, it is not the only answer. It is my belief that she planned, executed, and led the attack on Beacon Air Force Base in the United States, alongside her lieutenant, Adam Taurus. While I have no love for humans, and believe we must occasionally show our teeth as Faunus, this attack on a nation that wished us no harm, and the deaths of many humans and Faunus who pledged their lives to defend us from a great evil, was worse than an act of murder. It was a mistake. A mistake that Faunus would pay for with more suffering and more lives. As a young cat, I might have agreed with Sienna Khan's methods. As an old cat, I cannot.'"

Sienna's mouth hung open. This was not going at all the way it was supposed to. Her claws were out and digging into the chair.

Ghira glanced up at her, and his expression was one of pity. "'Because of Sienna's involvement in a foul terrorist attack, I not only withdraw her name as a potential replacement, I order, as a last request to the people of Edinburgh, to never allow her to stand for election in my district. Whether I arrive in heaven or hell, the only place I wish to see Sienna Khan stand is in the dock.'" Ghira put down the paper. "'Signed this day, June 11, 2001. Charles Tabey, Jr. and Susan Tabey, witnesses.'"

Silence reigned in the chamber. All eyes went to Sienna. Slowly, shaking with rage, she stood. Her lips peeled back from her fangs. "This is a _forgery._ Charles Tabey took sick that night and died the next day. He was not in his right mind."

Ghira took off his glasses. "Miss Khan, you have not been recognized by the Council." She made sounds of rupture at that, and Ghira held up a hand. "But I will recognize you and give you the floor."

Sienna stalked forward. "It is a forgery," she repeated.

Ghira held up the paper. "It was signed by his children, and notarized."

"His children!" Sienna exclaimed. "Who could undoubtedly forge his signature!"

"Why would they?" This from an older male Faunus. "What would they benefit from it?"

"To slander me!" Sienna shouted. "This…this… _baseless_ accusation that I led the attack on Beacon!"

Ghira folded his hands in front of him. "It's hardly baseless, Sienna. We've all heard the recordings of your voice being broadcast. Witnesses have placed you at the scene." He held up a folder. "And in here are intercepted recordings of you planning an attack on an unknown location, simply referred to as 'Haven,' which we have reason to believe is somewhere in Japan."

"All lies," Sienna snarled. "My voice was faked. I am being framed."

"By whom?" Mata wanted to know.

"Adam Taurus. He wants the leadership of the White Fang for himself. And you're playing directly into his hands." Sienna knew she was on thin ice here. She'd always intended to put the blame solely on Adam, but that was before Tabey betrayed her. _That old son of a bitch,_ she thought, enraged. _He's hit me from beyond the grave. Did he know I was going to assassinate him?_ She had to play her cards carefully: Adam already knew she intended to blame him, but only for the attack on Beacon, not for a supposed coup.

"That may be," Ghira conceded, surprising her. "I should also note, in fairness, that while we are bound in the Council to accede to Sir Charles' last wish to not allow you to temporarily hold his seat, Miss Khan, the people of Edinburgh are _not_ bound to accede to his last wish not to vote for you. They are free to vote for whoever they wish."

"Ha!" Sienna laughed bitterly. "Everyone knows that old bastard has fixed every election there since the Council was established. The people of Edinburgh would eat shit if he asked them to."

"Curb your tongue, Miss Khan," Ghira warned.

"The hell with my tongue," Sienna growled. "And to hell with this Council." She pointed at them with a sharp claw. "I still am High Leader of the White Fang. All of you know how much power I have, and how much support I still command. You lapdogs will roll over and play dead for the humans," she shouted over increased yells and curses from the audience, "but we will _not!"_ She turned and stalked out of the chamber, slapping away attempts to stop her.

Ghira picked up his gavel and struck the bell until it quieted. "As it happens," he said evenly, "that was the only business of the Council today. We will vote on Sir Charles Tabey's replacement tomorrow. Those of you who wish to attend, I will be giving a press conference in five minutes outside. Motion to adjourn this session?"

The motion passed, and the Council filed out, fending off reporters and other members of the audience who wanted to know more about Sienna Khan. Kali made her way to the dais as Ghira gathered up his papers. "She's cornered," Kali observed. "That makes her more dangerous as ever. Do you still want to give the speech?" She was worried; Sienna Khan was capable of anything now, and Adam even more so.

Ghira weighed the folder with his papers. "Yes. It won't be easy for the people to hear, but the truth often isn't." He smiled at Kali and ruffled her hair. "I know they'll do the right thing."

"After trying everything else first," Blake sighed. "She's right, Dad. There's a lot of Faunus who will still follow her. They'll see this as a forgery and that the Council engineered the whole thing. For that matter, some might think the attack on Beacon was entirely justified."

"We'll have to take that chance." He walked off the dais, but stopped and looked at Blake and Sun. "I can't ask you to do this, either of you."

"That's a hell of a thing for you to say to me, Dad," Blake snapped back.

Sun nodded. "I'm in."

"Both of you are members of foreign militaries," Ghira reminded them. "Legally, you cannot support me."

"No," Blake agreed, "but we _can_ give testimony. That's what we're here for."

"And I don't even care," Sun added.

Ghira looked at him, and for the first time, smiled at Sun.

* * *

It was a rather pleasant day outside as Ghira walked to the podium, decorated with the Menagerie seal. The media instantly crowded forward, raising recorders and camera. A battery of microphones were mounted atop the podium. Ghira looked out over the crowd, back to Kali and Blake, and began.

"Thank you all for assembling here," Ghira said. "I wanted to take time to address some of the rumors that have been circulating across our land. I believe that it is important for the people of Menagerie to understand the truth.

"No matter how you feel about the human race, I think we can all agree that the attack on Beacon Air Force Base was a tragedy. Both humans and Faunus died there, defending the United States from the GRIMM. Whatever questions we have for the United States for their use of supposedly banned orbital weapons, we cannot and should not disparage the bravery of those pilots and security personnel….especially their commander, Captain Oscar Ozpin. It was a tragedy that will set both man and Faunuskind back. And I'm afraid it gets worse." Ghira paused, shuffled the papers. He wasn't wearing his glasses; he'd memorized the speech. "We now have official confirmation that Adam Taurus—" he spared the Albain Brothers, standing off to one side of the crowd in their business suits, an angry glare "—the leader of a powerful splinter group inside the White Fang, was at least partially responsible for these attacks. Our belief was that Taurus' group was a rogue faction, but sadly evidence has come to light that Sienna Khan may have ordered the attack herself." Ghira let the murmurs of the crowd rise and fall. "If true, she and Adam Taurus have not only tarnished the reputation of an organization originally created to bring peace and equality to all, but our entire race. While I hope the evidence against Sienna Khan proves unfounded—" Ghira regretted telling a lie "—each day that Adam Taurus remains unpunished, it becomes increasingly difficult to condemn those who look down upon us."

He let the talk go again, then raised a hand for silence. "Recently, a spy from this same splinter group set their sights on my own home. My own daughter, Captain Blake Belladonna of the United States Marine Corps, and her friend, Captain Sun Wukong of the Chinese Unified Air Force, did their very best to apprehend this individual. While they were unsuccessful after being physically assaulted, they were successful in obtaining the assailant's phone." He held up the cellphone. "With this, we have been able to ascertain that Adam Taurus—and possibly, once more, Sienna Khan—intend to strike again, in a similar attack to the one on Beacon. This place, known only as Haven, is strongly suspected to be in Japan. We in the Council have sent a warning to the Japanese government, as has Her Majesty's Government in the United Kingdom, but I believe we have a greater responsibility."

Ghira took a deep breath. "My relationship with the White Fang has been…an interesting one." He smiled, and a ripple of laughter went through the crowd. "Years ago, I led the organization to help try and create a world where I, and every Faunus who wished, could walk alongside the human race. And while I believe we made great strides towards this goal, it was made clear to me that the people both in and out of the White Fang wanted faster results. So my wife Kali and I stepped down, and Sienna Khan was appointed as my successor.

"It's true that I do not condone many of her methods. I _do_ condone what Sienna fights for: the idea that the Faunus and humans are, have been, and forever shall be, equal. Adam Taurus does not seem to have that goal in mind, and I worry that he has unduly influenced Sienna as well." He looked for her in the audience. In the distance, Ghira thought he saw her car. He was giving her an out, but he doubted she would take it. "Adam Taurus only benefits himself. I think it's time that the Faunus showed the world that we are equals. I call upon you, the Faunus, that we snuff out this terrorist splinter group, and restore the White Fang to what it once was. Will you join me in this historic effort?"

Cheers erupted from the crowd—not as many as he'd hoped, but enough. He smiled, and again motioned for quiet. Now came the tough part, where the Faunus would put their money where their mouth was. "To do this, I think the answer is clear. We must go to Japan and protect—"

_"TRAITORS!"_

The voice cracked like a whip around the gathering. Every head turned in the direction, and saw Ilia standing atop a car. She was wearing her black jumpsuit, her features hidden behind the White Fang mask. She glared around her and pointed at the crowd. "You're all cowards!" she shouted. "After everything the humans have done to us, everything they've put us through, and Ghira wants us to _help_ them?"

Ghira leaned forward. "No one argues that we have been treated fairly—"

"Where was _their_ help when the Schnees treated our people like slaves?" Ilia cut him off. "Where was their help when the nations of the world hunted Faunus for being what we are? Where was _my_ help when my parents were killed in a Schnee mine? Where, I ask you?"

Blake, angry, stalked forward and grabbed one of the microphones. "Ilia, stop it! You know it takes time!" She looked to the crowd. "At Beacon, my roommate was the heir to the Schnee fortune! She accepted me for who I am! If a former White Fang and a Schnee can achieve peace, we all can! We have to forgive each other!"

"The Belladonnas are the worse kind of Faunus!" Ilia shouted back, words that hit like a physical wound to Blake. "They want us to work with the same people that are trying to hold us down!" She pointed to the crowd again. "If you truly, _truly_ want to help your people…now is the time to support _Sienna Khan,_ not the Belladonnas! She will bring about the future that you deserve. Not these…these appeasers of humans!" She took a mask from her belt and raised it high. "And if you are unwilling to fight, know that the White Fang will fight for you!"

Sun grabbed the mike from Blake. "Shut up!" he yelled. He followed it with a spate of foul Chinese curses, but Ilia only threw the mask into the crowd, leapt off the car, and ran. Police pursued her, but she was gone in moments.

* * *

Ghira tried to address the crowd, but it fell apart as people began arguing over who to support. He gave up and began taking questions from the press. Few noticed the khaki uniformed Gurkhas who quietly closed in around the Belladonnas and Sun. Fewer still noticed the Albain Brothers slip through the crowd, get into Sienna's car, and drive away.

Fennec Albain waited until they were clear of the crowd before he spoke. Sienna sat in a corner of the rear seat, agitated, still shaking with rage. Her claws left rents in the upholstery. "What do we do now?" he asked.

"The charges will not stick," Corsac Albain tried to reassure his leader.

"I don't care anymore," Sienna seethed.

"Then what will we do? Cancel the attack on Haven?" Fennec wanted to know.

"We have no choice now. It will be a giant trap for the White Fang. Salem will just have to lump it."

"I'm sure she'll understand," Corsac said.

"I don't care," Sienna repeated. "No, Haven is no longer the target." She stabbed a claw into the seat. " _Menagerie_ is. We're going to launch a coup." Her fangs ground together. "And we're starting by killing the fucking Belladonnas."


	27. Ballroom Blitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang arrives in Las Vegas to try and find a contact with the Branwen Tribe, and rescue Weiss. 
> 
> It looks like she might have to fight her way out, though...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get Yang caught up in the story, and reveal what's happened to poor old Weiss.

_The Branwen Camp_

_Palmdale, California Dead Zone_

_15 June 2001_

"Hey, wake up."

Weiss Schnee's eyelids fluttered, and she blinked as she came fully awake. For a second, Weiss thought that who was standing over her was a boy, but then remembered the voice as being feminine. She was short, with hair cut close to the sides of her head, tattoos on her left shoulder, and wore what looked to be some sort of homespun outfit, with no sleeves. Oddly, she wore a collar around her neck and the thickest wristwatch Weiss had ever seen on her right wrist. Weiss ran her tongue over cracked lips. "I don't suppose you're here to release me," she rasped.

"Afraid not." The girl bent over the radiator that Weiss was handcuffed to. "I _am_ here to move you to somewhat better accomodations, though." She unlocked Weiss' handcuffs, but there was no chance of escape: besides the two pistols that the girl wore on her narrow hips, there were two other rather rough looking men at the door with assault rifles.

Weiss kept her mouth shut as the girl put the cuffs back on her and led her out of the room; now that she was alert, she remembered the Code of Conduct: give the captor nothing. A black hood was put over her head, then she was pushed out into sunlight. Through the hood she couldn't see much, but could tell she was being led over concrete. She also smelled jet fuel and oil, the unmistakeable smells of an air base or airport. Then it was dark again as she was led into a building. The hood was taken off, and Weiss could see she was in some sort of storage shed, though it was concrete and cool. It had been converted into a cell. There was a military style cot with a blanket, a toilet, a sink, and a bucket. Her stomach rumbled: next to the bed was wooden box, but atop it was a bowl of stew and a can of soda, plus a bottle of water. She hadn't eaten anything in nearly two days, and except for half a canteen of water, nothing to drink.

"I'm sorry it's not a palace or whatever you're used to," the girl said, "but it's better than being cuffed to a radiator." She took the handcuffs off and stuffed them into a pocket. "You can wash up in the sink. There's some soap there."

Though in theory she was supposed to only give her name, rank and serial number, Weiss needed information. "Who are you?"

"Vernal," the girl answered.

"Where am I?"

Vernal smiled. "Nice try. You don't need to know that. And you don't have to bother with that Code of Conduct bullshit: we already know who you are, Weiss Schnee."

Weiss massaged her wrists, which were red and chafed from being cuffed. "What about the other member of my crew—Rick Tardor?"

"At the bottom of the Salton Sea, I'm afraid."

"He was no threat to you!" Weiss snapped.

Vernal put a hand on one of the pistols. "I don't care. You're lucky our chief recognized you, otherwise we would've shot you too." She looked at Weiss with contempt. "We don't normally deal in trafficking people; not really worth our time. But once we realized we had a Schnee, that changed."

"People will come looking for me," Weiss told her.

"You mean the US Navy?" Vernal snorted. "They came sniffing around your crash site about an hour after we captured you, but they're not going to move against us. Certainly not for one pilot." That confirmed to Weiss that neither of the Fast Eagles had gotten out. "Don't make this complicated. Just keep quiet and cooperate, and you'll be back in your mansion before you know it."

"You mean you're going to ransom me back to my father?"

"That's the plan."

Weiss burst into laughter. It wasn't her normal giggle, but insane-sounding guffaws that left her bent over. Vernal stared at her as if she'd lost her mind—which, Weiss reflected, maybe she had. Then she took a step forward and punched Weiss in the face. Taken by surprise, Weiss fell to the concrete. "Shut up," Vernal growled. "Even if your piece of shit father doesn't pay up, someone will. At least, you better hope so."

"Or what?" Weiss sat up, rubbing her cheek.

Vernal shrugged. "I dunno. I guess the Tijuana whorehouses could use some new meat." With that threat lingering in the air, Vernal opened the door. "Like I said, just don't start any trouble. There's no one coming to rescue you." She left, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

_McCarran International Airport_

_Las Vegas, Nevada, United States of Canada_

_15 June 2001_

Yang Xiao Long signed the Form One, turning over temporary ownership to the ground crew. They clustered around the unfamiliar and exotic F-23A Black Widow. The crew chief whistled. "Never seen one of these before."

"Probably never will again," Yang replied with a smile. "She's one of a kind."

"We'll take good care of her, Captain," the sergeant smiled back. He motioned towards a squat, concrete structure down the tarmac. "CO's office is that way. He's expecting you, ma'am."

"Thanks." Yang put on her sunglasses, slung a duffel bag over one shoulder and her helmet bag over the other, and walked across the tarmac. There were a handful of other aircraft there—mainly F-16s, with the AZ tailcode and flag of the Arizona National Guard, but she noticed a F-14 Tomcat in the bunch, which brought an unpleasant reminder of Blake. She knew that, before the Third World War, Las Vegas had played host to the bustling Nellis Air Force Base northeast of town. It had survived the nuclear exchange—the Soviets had never targeted it—but not the onslaught of GRIMM. The base had been evacuated in the early 1970s, and never put back into service. She'd flown over it on the way in: the runways were still there, cracked and cratered, but the base was nothing but ruins, occupied by squatters. Across the ramp from where she was, airliners crowded around McCarran's terminal. While GRIMM attacks had been hitting other areas of the Remnant frontier, Las Vegas' airspace had been largely quiet. By the time she reached the building, her flight suit was soaked with sweat. The air temperature was hovering around a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and the tarmac reflected the heat back into her. _At least it's a dry heat,_ she thought to herself, feeling like every drop of moisture was being drawn from her body by the relentless sun.

The building was cool at least, and Yang gulped in the air conditioned air as she took off her sunglasses. She was directed to an office. On the nameplate was LIEUTENANT COLONEL LONZO R. WILKERSON, COMMANDING OFFICER MCCARRON AFS. She knocked on the door. "Come in," an authoritative voice said.

Yang set her duffel and helmet bag down, walked in and came to attention in front of the desk. "Captain Yang Xiao Long reporting for duty, sir."

Wilkerson stood and put out his hand. He was actually shorter than her, but muscles bulged beneath the Air Force blue uniform. "Good to meet you, Captain." She awkwardly shook hands with the artificial hand. "Heard you were at Beacon." He motioned her to a chair.

"Is that good or bad?" She sat down, remembering about her shootdown of Mercury Black. She had been framed for that, but not everyone knew it.

"Good. I've met your dad, and your uncle comes through here now and then. Any daughter of Taiyang Xiao Long can't be all bad." He held up a sheaf of papers. "We got your TDY orders faxed to us yesterday. You're headed to Atsugi?"

"Yes, sir. Staying here overnight, for gas, then pushing on tomorrow morning." She paused. "Hopefully."

Wilkerson looked down at the orders. "It says here that you may have a verbal, eyes-only message for me."

"You know about a plane getting shot down near the Salton Sea yesterday, sir?"

He nodded. "Four of them, actually. A Mexican Interjet 737 got tagged by GRIMM, then an An-12 about ten minutes later. The Navy sent out two Super Hornets to get the GRIMM, and got shot down by the Branwens. I understand the Navy's pissed—not that I blame them. The Branwens don't mess with our CAP here, but we don't go any further west than Death Valley."

"Weiss Schnee was aboard the An-12. Hauptmann Weiss Schnee of the Luftwaffe," Yang added.

Wilkerson's eyebrows went up. "As in the Schnee Company?" He thought a moment. "She was at Beacon too, wasn't she?"

"We were in the same flight. There's another pilot too—a guy named Rick Tardor. He's sheep-dipped."

"Working for the CIA," Wilkerson nodded. "Yeah, we get spooks through here all the time, too….Tardor," he mused. "Wonder if he's any relation to Amber Tardor."

"Speaking of the CIA," Yang said, "they think Weiss and this Rick guy got captured by the Branwen Tribe. That's my verbal, eyes-only message for you, sir. I'm supposed to go in and get them released."

Wilkerson leaned back in his chair. "No offense, Captain, but how in the hell are you going to do that? You giving them that F-23 or something?" He shook his head. "God, I hope not. We've heard rumors that Raven Branwen flies some sort of super-stealth fighter or something. We figure it was her that splashed those two Navy birds. They don't need any damn help."

Yang smiled. "Nothing like that, sir. I'm Raven Branwen's daughter."

He was silent for a moment, then leaned across the desk. He studied her for a long minute, then he laughed and thumped a heavy fist on his desk. "Well, I'll be damned. Yeah, you are. Hell, except for the blond hair, you're the spitting image of her." He shook his head again. "I met her once, before she went rogue, and I've seen her a few times when she's come through McCarran from whatever hideout she has. But I thought that your dad was married to someone named Summer—oh." He chuckled. "I get it."

Yang doubted it, but this wasn't the place to air old dirty family laundry. "Yeah—I mean, yes, sir. I'm supposed to try and make contact with a member of her gang here in Vegas, and then they'll escort me to wherever their base is. I guess they move around."

"They do. Where are you making contact at?"

She shrugged. "Supposedly her bunch hangs out at the Just Rite."

"They do," Wilkerson repeated. He stood, and pointed at a map of Las Vegas attached to the wall. "You ever been to Las Vegas before, Captain?" She answered in the negative. "This is the Wild West out here," he told her. "The city's got a whole lot of nice hotels and casinos. People still fly in here worldwide, when the GRIMM aren't too bad. But every one of the hotels—the Sahara, the Sands, the Frontier, Caesar's Palace, and the Just Rite—are owned by organized crime. We've got the Mafia, Chinese triads, Japanese yakuza, Mexican and Colombian cartels, you name it. They kill each other on the street every night—except the Strip. That's off limits. You might get a good bar fight every now and then, but no murders." He put his hand on the Strip, the narrow band of casinos and hotels northwest of McCarron along Las Vegas Boulevard. "This area from the old Interstate 15 to the Hilton is pretty safe; it's where all the rich folks live, along with the dons and the oyabuns that keep house here." He made another wide circle with his hand. "The area that used to be the old city, that's pretty rough. That's where the gangs shoot each other. Hell, they've turned the old Las Vegas Speedway into an autodueling arena, where they modify old stock cars with machine guns." He then motioned to the rest of the map. "About five miles in every direction from that is the favela." At her quizzical expression, Wilkerson explained, "It's a Brazilian name for slum, basically. Squatters live out there, and refugees from the Dead Zones. Do _not_ go out there without tank support. There's even rumors that some of them are cannibals."

"Holy shit…sir," Yang quickly added. "What about government stuff?"

"You mean the US government?" He pointed down at the floor. "This area of McCarron is it in Vegas. We have a deal. They pretend to be part of the Remnant and we pretend they still are. But Vegas is independent, Captain. The _only_ leverage we have is that we control Boulder City and Hoover Dam, and keep the GRIMM away as best we can. Other than that, we leave them alone, and they leave us alone. Most of the folks here say we ran out on them when the GRIMM hit…and they have a point. That's why we can't reopen Nellis. They hate our guts."

"Am I safe?" Yang asked.

"Yeah, you should be. The funny part is, they like fighter pilots. I go in there in my dress blues, and I might just get my ass kicked. I go in there in my flight suit, and I might not have to buy a drink. Hell, we had this one pilot here—Amber Tardor. Anyhow, she knocked down about a dozen GRIMM on one hop, and one of the dons gave her the Emperor's Package at Caesar's Palace for the weekend." He sat down and sighed. "Amber Tardor…one of the best we had. GRIMM got her up Reno way a couple of months ago; I guess your uncle managed to rescue her, but she died on the helicopter. Lot of good men and women die like that around here. Either the GRIMM gets them, or the desert does." Suddenly, he looked much older. His black mustache and hair were flecked with gray, but Yang guessed he was about her father's age. He shook himself of the memory. "Anyhow, you should be okay. Just don't start a fight or something you can't finish."

"I'll do my best, sir."

Wilkerson got up again; Yang did the same. "We've got a little hotel here ourselves. We'll put you up here for the night, unless you want to stay on the Strip. Overpriced as hell, I'll warn you."

"No, sir, the BOQ will be fine."

"Anything else I can do for you?"

"I don't suppose you've got a car or maybe even a motorcycle I can use?" Yang requested. She had caught herself missing Bumblebee, her beloved motorbike. It had been parked at Beacon; it was probably melted slag now.

Wilkerson reached down into his desk and tossed her a set of keys. "Can you ride a Harley?"

* * *

_The Just-Rite Hotel and Casino_

_Las Vegas, Nevada, United States of Canada_

_15 June 2001_

Yang took off her sunglasses as she walked into the Just-Rite. Despite its rather odd name, which suggested a rather seedy place, it actually was not bad at all: a white high-rise hotel that stood across the street from two other hotels, the Xanadu and the Golf Club. She looked up at the casino's leaded-glass ceiling as she walked across the casino floor, which was alive with the noise of slot machines. Yang was tempted to stop and play the slots a bit, but fought it down; she wasn't here for fun. She didn't _think_ her mother was bloodthirsty enough to shoot Weiss and Tardor, but she might be wrong.

Yang walked up to a huge bar, off to one side of the casino floor, and next to where the high rollers played poker and blackjack. Again, she was tempted—Yang had become a good poker player in flight school—but sat down on an empty bar stool instead. A bartender walked up to her. "Evening," he said, and adjusted his glasses. She'd showered, combed out her shock of blonde hair, and put on a fresh flight suit, which strained to keep her breasts in; Yang zipped it down. She wore a sports bra beneath it, but figured a little fanservice couldn't hurt if she was trying to get on people's good side. "What can I get you?"

"Strawberry Sunrise," Yang smiled.

"Can do." He fixed the drink and slid it across to her, and she slid back a wad of cash, a good deal more than the drink cost. He picked it up and looked at her over the tops of his glasses. "Miss, I think you overpaid."

"Not if I want some information." Yang had no idea if this was how this sort of thing worked, but it always worked in the movies.

The bartender put some of the cash in the till and pocketed the rest; he made no show of hiding it, and Yang supposed she wasn't the first one to try this. "What do you need to know?"

Before Yang could say anything, a man in a faded flight suit and a red sash slid up next to her. His dirty blonde hair was cut in a rough mullet, he needed a shave, and he'd had way too much to drink; Yang's nose wrinkled at the powerful smell of sweat and scotch. "Heyyy," he said, throwing some money at the bartender. "Get me a beer, and this beauty a top up on hers." Yang had barely touched her drink. "You a Huntress, beauty? We haven't gotten a real live Huntress in here in a long time."

Yang sighed. _That's what I get for flashing my tits._ "I'm good. Thanks, pal." She gently pushed him away.

The drunk was not deterred in the least. "Woo, doggies. You are _hawt,_ Goldilocks _._ Not too bulky. Not too lean. You're—"

"—just right. Yep." She pushed him away a little harder this time. "Like I said, I'm good." She looked down the bar. There were four others, three men and one woman. All wore similarly faded flight suits and red sashes, and all of them looked, as Qrow Branwen would say, three sheets to the wind. They were watching Yang and the drunk, grinning and clearly egging him on. "Why don't you go back to your friends, huh?"

The drunk was persistent. "You got the prettiest hair…" He reached in and touched it, running strands between his fingers on his right hand, while the other tried to cop a feel. _That does it,_ Yang decided. She grabbed his right hand with her left, turned on the barstool, and slammed her artificial hand into his face. She actually meant it to be a slap, just enough that the drunk would get the idea without causing him damage, but Yang realized that, quite involuntarily, her artificial hand had closed into a fist. It was also a lot more powerful than she'd realized. The drunk was lifted off his feet and came down in a heap four stools down. He wasn't knocked out: he slowly got to all fours, and spit a tooth onto the carpeted floor. He looked up at her, blood coating his chin; his friends were no longer laughing. They slid off their bar stools and walked towards her. _Oh shit,_ Yang thought, wincing, remembering both Rissa Arashikaze's and Colonel Wilkerson's advice: _you'll be fine as long as you don't start a fight or something._ And she just had.

She took a quick drink of her Sunrise and got to her feet, raising her hands defensively. "Hey, easy," she said. "Your friend was getting a bit too fresh, that's all. I didn't mean to hit him that hard."

"We don't give a shit, Goldilocks!" the biggest one of them said; he looked like a pro wrestler. "We're going to beat your ass!"

Yang sighed, and balled her fists, turning slightly and adopting a fighting stance. She didn't know if she'd end up in whatever passed for jail in Las Vegas, but she wasn't going to back up from a fight. She noticed her left hand—her real one—shaking like a leaf. "Let's go, then," she said, with a lot more confidence than she felt. Yang looked for bouncers, but there didn't appear to be any; instead, a crowd was gathering, and she saw money changing hands. _Great. I'm going to get my ass kicked as a casino game._

The five of them—joined by the bleeding drunk—advanced on her, but suddenly stopped. Yang noticed that she was just as suddenly flanked by two other people. She glanced at them and her mouth dropped open. Both were dressed in flight suits as well, emblazoned with the patch of VF-143, the World Famous Pukin' Dogs. One was a tall African-American, wearing a ridiculous snapbrim hat; the other was a short Faunus girl, with distinctly non-regulation pink and blue-striped pigtails. Then she felt more people behind her, and saw it was a group of six men—they were also dressed in flight suits, but theirs were bright green. "Flynt? Neon?" Yang asked.

"Hey there," Neon grinned, showing her fangs. "Mind if we join you?" She raised her fists, her tail lashing.

"You want a piece of her?" Flynt asked the five red-sashed people. "You mess with one of us, you scramble with _all_ of us."

The five attackers looked at each other. Yang noticed the woman among them staring at her, then she turned and whispered to the drunk, who looked rather sober, all of a sudden. The big man checked the odds, did some obvious mental calculation, and now was the one who put up his hands defensively. "Hey…we were just fooling around."

"We weren't," said one of the men in the bright green suits.

The big man nodded, and the five red sashes retreated as gracefully as possible to their bar stools. The pilots watched them for a moment as the crowd reluctantly dispersed, then Flynt gave Yang a big grin and slapped her on the back. "Yang Xiao Long, how the hell are you? Heard you got shot down at Beacon."

"Back in the saddle," she answered. She shoved her left hand into her flight suit to try and stop its shaking. She waved her artificial fingers. "It was a disarming experience." It was also a terrible pun, but everyone laughed anyway. Yang leaned back against the bar. "I owe you guys a round." She looked at the men in the bright green flight suits. "Jolly Greens?"

The one in the middle, whose flight suit's nametape strangely read FUCKHEAD, laughed. "Bet your pretty ass! We're Jolly Green 52, the local Combat SAR crew around here!" Fuckhead abruptly remembered what had started the fight. "Uh, I meant 'pretty ass' with the utmost of respect, Captain." He was a Lieutenant.

Yang grinned and carefully turned her back on him, leaning on the bar so that he got a good luck at her rear end, which did fill out the flight suit rather well. "It's okay if _you_ look, Jolly Greens. One of your bunch saved my ass at Beacon." Actually, it had been Blake and an Army Blackhawk crew that had saved her life, but she figured a little honey instead of vinegar was appropriate. "Hey, let me finish up with the barkeep here and I'll buy that round, okay?" She motioned with her head, and the pilots got the message. They began drifting back to their side of the bar.

"You got it," Neon said, hugging her. "Hurry up, though. I'm thirsty!"

Yang turned to the bartender, who hadn't moved. Both his hands were out of sight, and she wondered if he kept a shotgun behind the bar. "Sorry about that." She tossed some more cash on the bar, but he shoved it back. "I'll just take it out of what you've already given me," he replied. "This one's on the house. That asshole has been annoying me all day." He put his hands on the bar. "So what did you need?"

"I'm looking for someone. A contact." Now she really felt like she was in a movie. Or some kind of anime. "In the Branwen Tribe."

The bartender made a pained expression. He thumbed towards the five with red sashes. "That's a couple of them down there. They always wear the red sashes."

Yang covered her eyes. "Ah, shit."

* * *

Two hours later, Yang left the Just-Rite. She had made sure to have only two Strawberry Sunrises before switching to soda; she didn't want to wreck Wilkerson's Harley by driving drunk. Behind her, she left Flynt and Neon—the other member of Funky Flight, Kobalt Ivori, had gone back to Europe, while Flynt and Neon were heading in that direction as well. "We were on the _Enterprise,_ " Neon had explained, drunk enough to forget about operational security, "but they transferred us to the _Kennedy_ in the Med. Yeah, Ironwood's building up the carriers in the Sixth Fleet, too!" Flynt and Neon, along with the crew of Jolly Green 52, had a night of hard drinking and gambling ahead of them. They had started playing crud, a fighter pilot version of pool that was a full-contact sport, but Yang had declined to join them; she'd failed in her mission to contact the Branwen Tribe, but there was still tomorrow night. She hoped.

She climbed aboard the Harley and started it, loving the thrill of the horsepower between her legs. _Damn,_ Yang thought with a half-smile, _maybe I need to get laid while I'm here too, if starting a bike is getting me worked up._ She turned to check behind her, and saw the drunk with the now-missing tooth heading in her direction. His friends were at the entrance to the Just-Rite, hanging back. Yang shut off the engine. "Hey, girlie!" he called out.

"Seriously?" Yang said in amazement. "This isn't over?"

"Not here to fight," the man insisted. "I'm Shady, by the way."

"No shit," Yang replied.

"Nah, it's my callsign. What's yours…" he grinned at her, with a gap in there now "…Yang _Branwen?"_

Yang stepped off the bike. "How did you know my name?"

Shady thumbed back at the casino. "I heard them other pilots saying your first name. And Bobbi Jo—" he motioned at the one woman among the Branwens "-she recognized you as Raven's daughter. Didn't know the boss had a kid, but you're her, no question." He paused, looking a bit confused. "You _are_ ,right?"

Yang let a smile slowly spread on her face. "It's Yang Xiao Long," she corrected him. "But I am sure as hell Raven Branwen's daughter." She reached out and put a friendly hand on Shady's shoulder. "And boy, do I want to see my mommy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Just-Rite is actually the Tropicana, which still stands; the Golf Club Motel really was a Las Vegas hotel, before it was torn down. The MGM Grand stands there today. There was a planned hotel named Xanadu, but it was never built-the Excalibur is where that place would've been.
> 
> The red sashes that the Branwen Tribe wears is a reference to "Tombstone," which I thought was appropriate. Jolly Green crews really do wear bright green "party suits" if they're going out for some fun, and hardcore 80s GI Joe fans will get the McCarran AFS CO's name. And "Fuckhead" is a nod to one of my long-time reviewers, who only goes as "StayAtHomeYaFuckheads"; it's not meant to be an insult!


	28. Hero's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang follows Shady to the Branwen hideout in California, but Shady's got a surprise for her. 
> 
> Of course, Yang also has a surprise for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, some dogfighting! This one was a lot of fun to write. Even YouTube cooperated by playing some badass fight music (such as Jigsaw's "Sky High," "Through the Fire" from the Top Gun soundtrack, and Hammerfall's "Hero's Return"-in case you're wondering what I like listening to when I write this stuff).

_Over Death Valley_

_California Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_16 June 2001_

Yang followed Shady at a respectable distance—which in the air, was about two miles. Her F-23 was in trail, following Shady's F-8 Crusader. Though Yang wasn't quite as much of an airplane nut as her sister, she had to admire the sleek lines of the old fighter. _I bet what Raven did was grab all those birds sitting in California and refurbished them. Probably just a ton of them lying around after the war, and a lot of spare parts, too._ Her admiration had limits, however: she kept the gunsight pipper centered on the tailpipe of the Crusader. Every time he slightly accelerated or decerelated, Yang matched his speed. She was at perfect Sidewinder parameters, and Shady knew it.

She thumbed the radio button on her throttle. "Yang to Shady. How much further?"

"We're pretty close. I've radioed for vectors."

Yang looked down at the map in one of her kneepads. _That means either Edwards or Palmdale. That beast Raven flies needs a lot of runway, and those are the only two that make sense._ She reached forward and switched on her radar for one sweep, and then shut it back down. It immediately painted six other contacts, approaching low and to the north, using the Sierra Nevadas to mask their radar signature. Against an older radar, it would've worked; the Black Widow's synthetic aperature radar, however, still picked them up. It helped that Yang anticipated an ambush: she'd noticed that, when they'd taken off from McCarran thirty minutes before, Shady had been alone. _I bet they took off earlier._ _How dumb do you think I am, Shady? It must be because I'm a blonde._

"Shady to Yang. Listen, I'm going to fly up ahead a bit. Why don't you orbit here a bit and I'll lead you in when I've got clearance?"

Yang was suddenly tired of playing along. "How about I asshole you with a Sidewinder for leading me into an ambush instead, Shady?" She switched on her radar again; there was no point in leaving it off now.

The F-8 suddenly accelerated and began a hard break to the right. Yang broke to the left, circling around to give herself some room. Now she could see Shady's friends, specks against the drab valleys below. "I can't believe you were dumb enough to let me lead you here, Yang! I guess you really are a blonde!" the bandit laughed.

Yang rolled her eyes. _Nailed it._ "Let's see what we have here, Shady. Looks like you brought along a F-4, an A-4, a F-5, two A-7s, and…oh, nice, a Hunter." She noted that the Hunter was slightly ahead of the others. The bandit formation began to circle as well, cutting their speed, extending out so that they were now about fifteen miles apart. "That must be Bobbie Jo." She'd learned last night that the short woman was the actual flight leader; Shady was just the loudest mouth. "Is this everyone?"

"Yep, Goldilocks, that's it. Unless you count the whole tribe."

"So you're going to shoot me down? That should please Mom." Yang was starting to get tired of that, too. Raven Branwen was not her mother, other than being the womb she'd come out of.

"Nah. What you're going to do, Yang, is lower your gear, throttle back, and follow us down. Your course will be two-zero-zero." Yang glanced at her navigational display. _20_ _0? Palmdale._ _Heh. Makes sense. Raven's using the old Skunk Works factory. I remember Dad telling me about that place._ "And when we get down, you're going to take your lumps. We're going to beat the shit out of you and drag you to your mommy. You're going to pay me back for this tooth." He laughed. "Seven to one odds, Goldilocks. You got the jump on me last time, sweetheart. But you really oughta think twice about fighting all—"

Yang locked onto the A-7 at the eastern edge of the formation and fired an AMRAAM. It crossed the distance in seconds and the attack fighter exploded in a fireball. She pushed the throttle forward and climbed, grabbing altitude in the perfect blue sky. She dipped the left wing and kept her eye on Shady's F-8, but although he had come back around to get in behind her, Yang's sudden attack had visibly unnerved him. The Crusader shot past well beneath her, and Yang put him out of her mind for now; it would take some time for him to get turned around. She rolled over and looked up to look down. The bandit formation was holding together, and they were climbing. Yang smiled beneath her oxygen mask, and shoved the stick forward. The Black Widow dived; she pointed the nose right at the Hunter as she rolled.

It worked. Bobbie Jo, fearing a collision, broke hard to the right, and the other bandits, who had been forming on their flight leader, went to pieces. They broke in a flurry of directions. Yang stepped hard on the left rudder pedal and snapped the stick in the same direction. The F-23 skidded as it came out of the dive, Yang sacrificing airspeed for letting the Hunter edge out in front. Then she engaged the afterburner for a precious few seconds to catch up. A quick look around showed that the bandits were still trying to figure themselves out: they were expecting to be surrounding and escorting a humiliated opponent into Palmdale, not fighting for their lives. The remaining A-7 was trying to get in behind her, but he could wait for a moment. Yang returned her attention to the Hunter, and closed the distance. She switched to guns and fired, but Bobbie Jo evaded.

Yang had to give the bandit flight leader some credit. She'd fought a Hunter before—Reese Chloris' FGA.9 at Vytal Flag—and knew it was still a good fighter in the hands of a good pilot. Bobbie Jo was evidently indeed a good pilot: she made hard breaks to force Yang into impossible deflection shots, climbed into the sun to defeat Sidewinder shots, all the time trying to lead her opponent back into her formation. Yang was having a tough time following her, and constant glances behind the F-23's twin tails showed that the bandits were starting to get their act together; the A-7 in particular was angling towards her. Though the stubby Corsair II was an attack aircraft, a mud mover, it was also surprisingly nimble, and Yang had a feeling Raven had modified hers.

_Okay, asshole. You're beginning to annoy me._ Yang saw the A-7 begin to set up for a gun pass, and suddenly broke off her pursuit of the Hunter and turned into the A-7. She held down the trigger, her cannon shells sparking off the nose and going down the aircraft's huge intake. Smoke and flames burst from the tail as the engine was shredded, and Yang quickly rolled away, avoiding a collision by mere feet, enough that her fighter bounced in the A-7's jetwash. She leveled out for a moment, then turned back towards the Hunter; the A-7 was going down in a terminal dive, trailing fire.

The F-23's radar beeped and went to continuous tone: it had locked onto the Hunter. Yang quickly switched back to AMRAAMs, the weapons bay door opening just long enough to eject the missile into the airstream. The rocket motor ignited a half-second later, and it shot forward, eagerly seeking its prey. To Yang's surprise, the Hunter executed a perfect split-S, breaking the missile's lock; it went sailing merrily into the desert. Yang dived after Bobbie Jo, but then brought the nose up again when she checked her altimeter: the dogfight had caused both fighters to lose altitude, and they were at seven thousand feet above the dry lakebeds and desert floor of the Panamint Valley. _7000 feet AGL? Oh, you done goofed, Bobbie Jo. You are_ way _too low._

Instead of the expected fireball as the Hunter dived vertically into the desert, however, Yang watched in amazement as the fighter's nose came up and it pulled out of the dive, clearing the ground by less than twenty feet. Dust and dirt flew up behind it as the Hunter hung on its Avon engine…and then it slowly began to climb. "That's fucking amazing," Yang said aloud, closed the distance, and opened fire with her cannon, not really feeling chivalrous. The 20 millimeter shells ripped into the rear fuselage and wings; the Hunter, with almost no airspeed, was a perfect, spreadeagled target. As Yang shot past, she saw it almost stopped in midair; the canopy came off and the pilot ejected. _If she gets a good swing of her 'chute, she might make it,_ Yang thought as she climbed and turned back into the fight. _I'll put in a good word for her with Raven._

Of course, Yang reflected, she might be soon joining Bobbie Jo in the desert. The other bandits and Shady were now back in formation, and all of them were coming after her. She broke right as the F-4 fired two Sparrows at her, dropping chaff in her wake; the missiles failed to guide, but that spoiled her own attack, and now all four were behind her. Yang did not panic, hearing her father's voice, and Major Oum's at Weapons School training: _even at long odds, you still have an advantage, as only one of your opponents can get behind you at once._ She was flying a fourth-generation fighter, and was an experienced fighter pilot with Vytal Flag and Beacon behind her; the bandits were used to flying against GRIMM and slow targets. Yang didn't even notice her artificial arm: she was in the zone where everything was narrowed down to simply fighting and flying.

She kicked the tail around a little as she came out of her turn, to see Shady's F-8 and the F-4 closing in. Both fired Sidewinders, and Yang broke to the left; the Sidewinders could not get enough of a heat signature off the stealthy Black Widow, and both went over Yang's head, leaving white smoke in their path. Her break had brought her into gun range of the A-4 and the F-5, and she dodged the cannon shells from them, sending her back like a pinball towards Shady and the Phantom. _They're trying to box me in. Okay, try this, bitches._

Yang continued her right break, tightened it into an 8-g turn that neither the F-8 or the F-4 could match, and as they overshot, she climbed, rolled, slapped back the throttle to kill some of her airspeed, and forced both out ahead of her. She shed more speed, let the Phantom edge out a little more, and fired her third AMRAAM. It was a little closer than she'd like, on the edge of the AIM-120's parameters, but it guided nonetheless. The F-4 somersaulted as if it had been kicked from behind, and as the fighter tumbled into a fireball, Yang saw one parachute.

Now there were three left. As Yang leveled out and pushed the throttle forward to get her airspeed back, she could see the bandits were beginning to panic. They had started out with seven to one odds, and their opponent had shot down four of them in as many minutes. Now their only thought was to get away from her. The F-5 climbed and Yang followed him; she deployed her speedbrake for a moment, skidded the tail, switched back to her guns, and gave the fighter a short burst. The shells hit the canopy, and the F-5 continued its climb, before stalling and falling into a flat spin. _Killed the pilot,_ Yang thought in passing as she shoved the F-23's nose back down. She'd just killed another human being, several probably, but those thoughts would have to wait for later.

Now the panic was complete. The A-4 and F-8 were in full retreat, diving for the desert floor. Yang kept up her speed: the Black Widow didn't need its afterburner to cross the speed of sound. Her sonic boom was lost behind her as she closed in. She fired her last AMRAAM and the A-4 turned into a fireball; she rolled and was now back behind Shady. She locked on her last Sidewinder on his glowing tailpipe. "Hey, Shady," she radioed. "All your friends are dead. Come out of 'burner, drop you gear, and fly straight and level, or I swear I'll blow your ass away too." She slowed down; she didn't want to overshoot him.

So did Shady, and she saw his landing gear come down, the universal sign of surrender. "You really _are_ Raven's daughter," he sent back.

* * *

It took about fifteen minutes, but Shady this time was true to his word. Sure enough, it was Palmdale. _A nice long runway,_ Yang confirmed to herself. _They used to test the SR-71 here. Perfect for Raven's bird._ On approach, she noticed several large hangars to her right, but they looked ruined; for that matter, the runway looked pitted and cratered. The control tower was still standing, but she could not see hardly anyone on the ground. For that matter, the entire airport looked like it had been worked over by heavy bombers.

Shady's F-8 landed without incident, and Yang realized what she was looking at. _I'll be damned. It's paint. They painted the runways to look like they're unusable._ It wouldn't hold up under hard scrutiny, Yang thought, but it would fool someone who was searching for an operational base. Once the F-8 taxied off the runway, Yang followed it down and made a smooth landing. As she began to slow down, she checked her fuel gauge. The five minute dogfight had used about half of her fuel; she would have to stop somewhere or, more likely, find a tanker for the trip to Hawaii. Assuming Raven let her leave. Yang knew she was taking chance after chance: by coming here in the first place, intending to more or less threaten her birth mother into giving up Weiss and Rick Tardor. Starting the fight with Shady's friends was also a risk; Yang was hoping Raven would be more impressed with a show of strength rather than be angry that her daughter had just shot down and possibly killed six of her pilots. Raven might be so impressed that she would just hand over Weiss and Tardor without further negotiation.

Or she might just shoot all three of them.

A ground crewman held up two light wands, and she followed him towards a hangar. It looked disused, with actual holes in the roof, but to Yang's surprise, she saw a ramp leading down into an underground hangar. She followed the yellow line painted on the ramp, taxied down into the hangar, and was directed by another ground crewman to a revetment. As she shut off the engine and raised the canopy, she saw the ramp being raised up until the outside world disappeared. Huge fans drew the exhaust fumes out of the underground chamber. _Guess it won't be too easy to escape. Well, I kinda figured._

Yang took off her helmet after she unstrapped, waited until a ladder was placed, and then climbed down. Besides the ground personnel, three people were waiting with guns, along with Shady. His arrogance was gone now; he looked pale and shaken. Yang only smiled at him. "Follow you guys?" she asked, but the gunmen were silent. Then she saw why. Advancing towards them, wearing her black and red-trimmed flight suit, sword at her side and a short woman with close-cropped hair in tow, was Raven Branwen. She motioned the gunmen to one side, and mother and daughter regarded each other. The family resemblance visibly stunned the other bandits.

Yang smiled humorlessly. "Mom." Her left hand began to tremble again, so she put both hands behind her back.

Raven smiled back in exactly the same fashion. "Yang. After all this time, you finally came to visit me."

"I wouldn't have had to…if you hadn't left."

Though Raven flinched a little at that, she only rested a hand on her sword hilt. "Did you have to be so rough with my people?"

"I didn't want a fight, but I damn sure wasn't going to be humiliated like that. For all I knew, this fucker was taking me to some lonely airstrip to rape me and steal my aircraft."

Raven chuckled. "Well, it was a damn impressive fight, I'll give you that. You've definitely proven yourself." She motioned the guards to holster their weapons. "You can stay with us tonight. I'll have the cooks whip up whatever you like. Food's not a problem for us at the moment."

"Thanks," Yang replied, "but that's not why I'm here."

Raven's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"I'm not here for you, Mom. I'm here for your two prisoners—Weiss Schnee and Rick Tardor. I need you to release them."

Raven moved past her, and ran a hand across the Black Widow's wing. She ducked under it to look at the fuselage for a second, then straightened up. "The YF-23. I'd heard of this." She gently tapped the wing. "Where are you going to stuff them, the missile bays?"

Yang shrugged. "I was thinking you could fly them over to Tijuana."

"I suppose you'd want me to top off your fuel tanks, too," Raven said sarcastically. "Maybe load you up with a full load of missiles?"

"Sure, if you're being generous."

Raven laughed, and the other bandits snickered as well. "A shame you aren't my son, Yang, then I could remark on your incredible balls. Why in the hell would I do _any_ of that?"

"Because we're family."

That brought another peal of laughter. "We've seen each other _once_ since you were little, and that's when we talked at Beacon, after I saved your ass over Mountain Glenn a few months ago. And _now_ we're family?"

"But that wasn't the only time, was it, _Mom?_ " Yang emphasized the last word. "Dad is pretty damn certain you were at my graduation from high school _and_ flight school. And while I was home, convalescing from this—" she held up the artificial hand "—I looked through some old pictures of Summer Rose's funeral. You were there too. Way in the back, doing your best to hide, but you were there." She took a step forward. Guns raised in her direction. Yang ignored them. "Did you know that I've been looking for you for most of my life? When I was little, not long after Mo—Summer died, I loaded up Ruby in our little red wagon and thought I could _walk_ and find you. I thought you were up in the mountains someplace." Yang snorted. "Of course, all that got me and Ruby was a case of hypothermia. But if you wanted a family, _Mom,_ you could've come back."

"This is not the place for this conversation," Raven warned.

"No, it isn't. Someday, Mom, we're going to have that conversation," Yang told her. "But right now, I just want Weiss and this Tardor guy and then I'm out of here."

"To Japan, to join Ruby and Qrow?" Raven smirked at the look of shock on Yang's face. "It wasn't hard. I ran into your uncle in Alaska. I knew where he was going, and Ruby too." She leaned against the wing. "Like I said, it takes some big brass ones, girl or no, to march into my camp and make demands. Especially when I could just shoot you and take this rather nice airplane. You're trading a lot on being my daughter, Yang—especially when you insisted, quite forcefully as I recall, that Summer was your real mother, and not me." The bandit leader shrugged. "Still, I'm impressed. Though I wouldn't go to Japan if I were you. If Ruby's with Qrow, then she's already a lost cause."

"What does _that_ mean?" Yang snapped.

Raven gave her a pitying look. "You don't want to get mixed up in all of that, Yang. Ozpin is dead, and even if he wasn't, he wasn't the man you think he was. Qrow was a fool to trust him—and I should know; I trusted that old bastard too. Once."

"I don't really care."

"Your choice is your own," Raven sighed. "All I'm suggesting is that, instead of getting wrapped up in the same thing that cost you your arm, that maybe you take a look around and see if you're already where you belong." She motioned around the hangar.

"Oh yeah—you want me to join your merry band," Yang replied derisively. "Well, Raven, you can spout off whatever bullshit you want, but I'm getting what I want, and then I'm finding Rubes."

Raven smiled. "My, aren't we stubborn."

"I get it from my mother's side."

_"And_ your father's." Another sigh. "All right. The least you can do is have dinner with me." She motioned to the short-haired woman. "This is Vernal. She'll show you to where you can grab a shower, then you and your friend Weiss can join me in my headquarters."

"What about Rick Tardor?"

"I don't know who that is," Raven answered. "We only recovered one survivor from the An-12. There weren't any from the 737 the GRIMM downed, or the two Navy birds."

"That you shot down," Yang couldn't resist adding.

"That I shot down," Raven confirmed without so much as batting an eye.

"There _was_ one other person at the An-12," Vernal said. "Guy with the M4 and the Colts." She patted the holster at her side, where Yang could see the ivory grips of a M1911. "We shot him and threw him into the water."

"Oh, yes, him." Raven shrugged again. "Why's he important? I get the Schnee bitch, but I didn't even know his name until just now."

"He was the head of the CIA's nephew." Yang got the satisfaction of seeing Raven taken aback at that. "Yeah, she's pissed. Pissed enough to blow this place off the fucking map. There's three carrier battlegroups out there, just waiting for the go order. Which, by the way, they'll get if I don't report in at Hickam in 24 hours." The last part was a bit of a bluff; Arashikaze hadn't really put a time limit on Yang's mission. Yang raised her voice all the same, so that everyone in the hangar heard her.

"The President wouldn't dare," Vernal said. "We've—" Raven waved her to silence.

"Who said anything about the President?" Yang taunted. "You think the CIA gives a flying fuck about what the President thinks?"

"Enough. This Tardor character is dead, whoever he was related to." Raven pointed at Yang. "Watch your mouth. If I've got nothing to lose, I might just blow Miss Schnee's brains out in front of you to make a point. You are trying my patience, _daughter,_ and if you don't stop, I'm going to forget you're mine." Her expression softened a bit, to Yang's surprise. "Though there's no question about that, is there?" She nodded towards Vernal. "Follow Vernal, get cleaned up, and we'll have dinner. And you may be interested to hear what I 'spout off,' Yang."

Yang reluctantly followed Vernal. Raven motioned Shady forward. "I'm so sorry, Chieftess," he said, almost in a whine. "I didn't know she was that good."

"You should have. You knew she was my daughter." She regarded Shady. "Did you and Bobbie Jo cook up your little ambush?" He slowly nodded. "And didn't even tell me."

"Well, we figured she wouldn't fight—"

"And you figured wrong. Now I'm out eight pilots and six aircraft. Not to mention a shit ton of missiles, fuel and ammunition."

"Eight?" Shady asked. "But I got back—"

Raven's sword came free of its sheath in a blur; she slashed outwards, spun the blade, and resheathed it, all in the same motion. Shady took a step back in shock, then the pain hit. His hands went to his slashed throat, vainly trying to stop the red fountain that soaked his flight suit. He collapsed backwards onto the concrete, thrashed twice, and then was limp and still. She motioned to two of the ground crew. "Get that out of here. Throw it in the dump."

One of the gunmen joined her as Raven began walking towards the back of the hangar. "What about Bobbie Jo, Chieftess? Her and Howie Wang managed to punch out. We sent out SAR to pick them up."

"They were all in Vegas last night, which means they all agreed to this." Raven thought for a moment. "Wang's a F-4 backseater. I suppose we can't spare him. Go ahead and pick him up."

"And Bobbie Jo? She came down in Death Valley."

"Leave her there," Raven said casually, and kept walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yang's dogfight is based on Giora Epstein's 11-1 battle over the Sinai in 1973, which I think I've used before, but not quite in this fashion.


	29. I Never Promised You a Rose Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back to work for Reaper Flight, as Ruby and Oscar do some air combat training. Who's going to win this one, and what's that going to mean for the two of them? Can their newly formed friendship survive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early on this chapter, but I'm going to be pretty busy tomorrow, and I felt like writing tonight. Some more air action this time around, too, with Ruby and Oscar. We'll get back to Yang and Weiss next time.
> 
> Also, I reused one of the chapter titles from "Love Hurts." It seemed appropriate...

_Naval Air Station Atsugi_

_Atsugi, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan_

_16 June 2001_

"So that's the plan," Qrow Branwen said. They were gathered in one of the squadron ready rooms. Normally there was a carrier air wing based at Atsugi, but only when there was a carrier in port at Yokosuka; Reaper Flight was able to borrow a room all for themselves. "Ghira Belladonna is calling for volunteers from Menagerie to help defend strategic areas in Japan." He pointed to a dozen spots on a map of Japan, mainly American bases.

"Why spread out so much?" Nora asked. "We _know_ Salem's target is this JINN thing at Tsushima."

Qrow leaned against the map. " _We_ know that, but JINN's top secret. We can't keep a couple hundred Faunus at Tsushima without a whole bunch of people asking questions as to what they're guarding. Besides, that might be Salem's target, but the White Fang might have something else in mind."

"They could attack anywhere," Pyrrha observed. "Too many places to defend."

"Ghira's guess is that the White Fang won't be hitting a civilian target. They're trying to discredit the military, not turn the Japanese against them. Sienna Khan's not _that_ stupid." Qrow paused. "I hope."

"Where will the main concentration of Menagerie troops be?"

Qrow pointed at the floor. "Right here. Everyone thinks 'Haven' is the codename they're using for Atsugi. Attacking Atsugi makes sense, because it's close enough to Tokyo to scare the shit out of everyone, and if they can wreck this place like they wrecked Beacon, then that's probably going to be it for the US' rep around the world. Salem's got to put us out of the game before she makes any moves in Europe."

Ruby raised her hand. "Anything from Blake?"

Qrow sadly shook his head. "She's busy, Ruby. Apparently her dad is putting her in charge of recruiting volunteers. Probably a conflict of interest there, her being a jarhead and all, but I guess we'll worry about that later. Sun Wukong's with her. God knows what Beijing's going to make of that—a Chinese officer helping to recruit people to defend Japan."

"Why's that a problem?" Ruby asked.

It was Ren who replied. "China and Japan have never really liked each other…especially given what they did to China during World War II. Things have gotten better after reunification, but there's still a lot of Chinese who would love to see the Japanese get hit."

"Do you feel that way?" Ruby instantly regretted the way that sounded.

Ren smiled at her, to show that he took no offense. "My parents always said the past was the past, and I ever felt the need for revenge, I should visit Hiroshima."

"Anyway, enough of that." Qrow got them back on track. "Our job is going to be covering the JINN facility. The White Fang are supposed to distract us while Salem's bunch goes for that. And that means we got to get back into the air." He rolled up the map. "So vacation's over, boys and girls. We're flying hops as of 1300 this afternoon."

"My F-22 isn't quite ready yet," Pyrrha said.

"My Nighthawk's still in the shop too," Qrow replied. "You and me are hopping in a two-seat F-16 and checking out Tsushima. We won't land, but I want to know the ground. Sound good?" Pyrrha nodded. "Nora, Ren, you two are going over to Hyakuri to coordinate with the JASDF 3rd Squadron over there. If things really go south with the White Fang, we're going to need their F-2s." Qrow gave them a pained look. "Uh, this probably sounds maybe a little racist, but…Ren, do you speak Japanese? Most of the folks in the JASDF speak English pretty good, but still…"

Ren laughed. "I actually speak very little Japanese." He pointed to Nora, who smiled. " _Watashi wa totemo jozuna nihongo o hanashimasu,"_ she said.

Ruby turned in her seat. "Nora, you speak Japanese?"

"That's what I just said!" she answered. "You think I'm dumb or something?"

Ruby was actually a little shocked—Nora just didn't seem like the person to have the patience to learn a foreign language—but then Ruby remembered that she and Ren had grown up in refugee camps all over the Pacific. It made sense. She decided to cover her mistake with a joke. "Well, you _are_ an A-10 pilot…" Nora kicked Ruby's chair, and everyone laughed.

"So what am I doing?" Everyone turned to the one person who _hadn't_ laughed: Ensign Oscar Pine, who clearly felt very out of place. He hadn't gone with them to Leonardo Lionheart, who was still in Misawa; Qrow was keeping Oscar's presence a secret for as long as he could.

"You and Ruby are doing some ACM," Qrow said. "Out over the range east of Tokyo, over the ocean. You haven't had any combat time, kid. We got to get you up to speed."

Ruby looked as dumbfounded as Oscar. "Me? Why not Pyrrha? She's got the most experience. She can borrow _Crescent Rose._ "

"Because I'll kill him," Pyrrha said, "and he'll learn nothing." Ruby _hoped_ Pyrrha was being metaphorical; it was getting hard to tell. She was getting increasingly worried about Pyrrha. She went on shopping trips with Nora, who had told Ruby that the Greek girl seemed to be enjoying herself, but the rest of the time was spent either exercising at the gym or brooding in silence. But that would have to wait…again.

"Anyway, Ruby, show Oscar some tricks. You'll be cleared in by Range Control. Don't do anything nutty like jumping the poor bastard as soon as you take off. The Japanese get really pissed when fighter pilots do that."

Ruby soured at little, since that was exactly what she had been planning to do. "It's realistic," she argued.

"It's also how they get midair collisions with airliners." He pointed at her. "Don't screw around, kiddo. They will burn your ass and send you back home." Qrow checked his watch. "All right. It's 1100. Let's go to work, folks."

* * *

Ruby met Oscar by his aircraft. He had been loaned one of VFA-27's F-18As. It wasn't particularly flamboyant, like the red-trimmed _Crescent Rose,_ just a standard Hornet in subdued markings and overall gray camouflage. She helped him with preflight, mainly because she never missed an opportunity to check out something new in the way of aircraft. "Kinda boring," she remarked. Oscar looked at her. "I mean, you don't have any personal markings or anything," she added hastily. "You need something cool."

"Don't we want to be kind of anonymous?" Oscar argued, checking the starboard intake to make sure it was clear of debris. "So the bad guys don't know who we are?"

"Not if you're a Huntsman!" Ruby said. "One of the perks. You get to paint your bird anyway you like. Well, almost any way you like." She pointed at her F-16, down the tarmac. Oscar marveled at her markings: red stripe on the spine, red wingtips, and the scythe on the rudder. And the eleven kill marks on the intake. Ruby went over to the plane captain, a petty officer. "Hey. Is this going to be Ensign Pine's aircraft from now on?"

"Uh, I think so, ma'am," the plane captain answered.

"Cool! Then we need to customize it. Any way he wants to do it." Ruby put her hands on her hips. "That's an order," she insisted, somewhat imperiously; Ruby always felt weird giving orders.

The petty officer surreptitiously checked her rank. He had been in the Navy for over ten years, and decided he was getting old, since they were apparently making 14 year olds captains now. Then again, she was Air Force. "Yes, ma'am."

"Thanks." She went back to Oscar. "Anyway, see you up there. We're running clean, so we should have pretty good ACM. Weather looks good too. Close formation until we get out to the range. I want to see what you've got there."

"Okay. I mean, yes, ma'am." Oscar came to attention and saluted. He'd been a little taken aback on the informality among Reaper Flight, where everyone called each other by their first name, and there was no saluting or observation of rank. He guessed that was how Huntsmen and Huntresses worked. Ruby, for her part, looked a bit surprised, and it took a minute for her to return the salute. Then she giggled and ran off to her F-16.

Oscar caught himself watching her, then shook it off and mounted the ladder to the cockpit. The plane captain helped him strap in. "Ensign, what are you thinking about for a personal marking?"

"Huh? Uh, I don't know yet." He smiled. "Hey, let's not worry about it. I'm barely out of school."

The petty officer smiled at him. "You give the word, Mr. Pine, and we'll paint whatever you like on the tail, so long as it don't cover up the tailcode." Oscar put on his helmet and connected everything he needed to, and the plane captain slapped his helmet. "You give her hell, sir. Don't let some zoomie show you up."

Oscar gave him a brittle smile. "You got it." He closed the canopy, and watched Ruby taxi out. "Maybe she'll show me mercy or something," he murmured to himself.

Still, he thought, better Ruby than Major Nikos. Pyrrha scared him. She was friendly enough, even kind, but there was something in those green eyes that made him shiver. He'd immediately liked Ruby Rose, who seemed happy, sometimes annoyingly so. All of Reaper Flight had insisted Oscar feel at home, but there was a chasm between them—the Reapers had all been at Beacon, they'd all been in air combat, and Ruby and Pyrrha knew the heart-stopping terror of an aircraft coming apart around them. Until he actually got into combat, he was the FNG—Fucking New Guy—and that chasm would be uncrossable.

"Oscar, this is Ruby." Her voice startled him; he'd been concentrating on taxiing. "Why don't you take flight lead?"

"Roger." He moved past her as she waited on the taxiway, and turned onto the runway. The tower cleared them for takeoff, and Oscar moved up the throttle to afterburner. He let off the brakes, and the Hornet, with no ordnance but two inert Sidewinders on the wingtips, roared down the runway and reached takeoff speed quickly. He took off smoothly and made a gentle climb to the east. A quick glance to his right as the landing gear cycled up with a thump, and he saw the F-16 hanging there, flying formation as if they did this sort of thing every day. Ruby waved at him, and he waved back.

They climbed over Tokyo Bay, then over the narrow peninsula that divided the bay from the Pacific. It was a beautiful day; Oscar could easily see airliners taking off from Narita and Haneda to the north, while behind them rose the majesty of Mount Fuji. It felt good to be back in the air, back in control of his own destiny. Oscar had always loved to fly; he wondered now if it was genetic, but it didn't matter who his father really was. Combat or not, he was still a fighter pilot, and one who wore wings of gold. He didn't notice Ruby slowly drifting into a combat spread. That was the correct formation to get into, but Ruby wasn't doing it from habit.

"Choshi Range Control, this is Atsugi Exercise Flight Alpha, requesting clearance for ACM," he radioed.

"Atsugi Exercise Flight Alpha, Choshi Range Control. State flight and load."

"Flight Alpha is one Fox 18 and one Fox 16, both clean."

"Understood, Flight Alpha. You are cleared to ACM to 25,000 feet ASL. Hard deck is 5000 feet. Safe bailout zone is to the east. Do not leave the range boundaries, especially to the northwest; heavy traffic from Haneda." Both Oscar and Ruby acknowledged. "Fight's on."

Ruby immediately climbed, grabbing altitude, looped, and dropped in behind him. "Fox Two on the Hornet!" she called out.

"Wait, what—" Oscar had barely registered Ruby's climb, and she was already behind him. He broke hard to the left, but it was too late: Range Control registered that he was a mort. Had this been real, he and his F-18 would be on fire and spiraling towards the uncaring ocean below.

Ruby broke off and disappeared. Oscar scanned the sky, weaving his F-18, trying to see where she had gone. He looked into the sun; even with his visor down, it was blinding. He remembered the basic combat training he'd gotten at Pensacola, and broke hard left. Sure enough, the F-16 dived out of the sun, Ruby calling another simulated Sidewinder shot. Oscar was able to evade it, but now Ruby was behind him again. He lit his afterburner, broke left, and then climbed.

_What the hell?_ Ruby thought, easily following the Hornet into the climb. _That's crazy. Yeah, he can outclimb me, but those afterburners are just big ol' heat signatures against a cold sky._ "Fox Two on the Hornet," she called out again, and once more, Oscar met a simulated death. She immediately split-S and rolled away.

Oscar let out a blistering curse, rolled over the top, and followed her—the gray F-16 was easy to pick out against the blue ocean, at least. He stayed in afterburner, teeth clenched behind the oxygen mask, angry now. "All right, bitch," he snarled, though he kept the radio off. He quickly closed the distance and set up for his own Sidewinder shot; best of all, he was in the F-16's blind spot.

Ruby had watched him close in with glances in her mirrors, and when she saw the F-18 slide underneath her tail, she counted off one second and threw _Crescent Rose_ into a high-G barrel roll, opening her speedbrakes for a moment at the top of the roll. Oscar overshot, and Ruby settled back in behind him. He frantically looked around for her; to him, the F-16 had simply disappeared for a moment. He saw her reappear between the Hornet's twin tails, and broke left again. Ruby killed him again a second later, and climbed back into the sun.

_Geez,_ Ruby thought. _Either I'm that good or he's that bad._ Oscar came out of his break, but he clearly had lost her. She rolled, pushed the stick forward, and dived on him. Oscar, well and truly enraged, threw the F-18 at her, risking the collision. Ruby was able to compensate, the two passed canopy to canopy, and Ruby used the energy built into the dive to snap upwards into a climb. Once more, she was behind him; once more, the Hornet was out of energy and airspeed, and once more, he was caught and mythically shot down. This time she leveled out and let him get behind her; Ruby felt sorry for Oscar, and remembered how many times Major Oum, Uncle Qrow, or Yang had done this to her at Signal. This time, Oscar hung with her through several evasive maneuvers, but could not quite get his gunsight on her. Ruby made the turn even tighter, a brutal one that pegged the G-meter. Oscar could not stay in the turn with her, and broke off. She turned and "killed" him again.

Oscar was beside himself. He began fighting not only Ruby, but his own aircraft, finding in the Hornet a tangible object on which to vent his anger. To his surprise, the fighter fought back. Every move of the stick or kick of the rudder pedals was answered by an equally violent reaction of the F-18, as if it was outraged at _him_ for the mistreatment.

"Oscar? Oscar, are you okay?" The red haze of anger cleared, and Oscar realized he was dangerously close to the hard deck. "Range Control, let's knock it off," Ruby radioed. "Oscar, RTB."

"Roger," he said. It wasn't a long flight back to Atsugi, but it felt like one.

* * *

Oscar leaned against the shower wall, letting the spray fall over him. He wished it could melt him, or at least his utter embarrassment.

He'd screwed up, and screwed up bad. He'd fully expected to lose the combat—Ruby was far more experienced than he was—but he hadn't expected to be annihilated. He hadn't even gotten off a single shot. _Either she's that good or I'm that bad._ Oscar suspected it was a combination of both. Worse, he'd lost his temper. Oscar Pine prided himself on not having a short fuse, and yet he'd lost it, in the air. That was a stupid mistake for any pilot, no matter how experienced or inexperienced they were. If it happened in combat, he would be dead. GRIMM wouldn't care, and neither would Salem's forces, all of whom were far more experienced than he was. He was trapped: he would either have to get better or his mother would be burying him in that quaint little cemetery north of town.

There was the option of turning in his wings, and quitting entirely, but Oscar slammed his hand against the shower wall at that. _I'm not going to quit. I just had a bad day, that's all. Everyone has bad days. I bet even Pyrrha Nikos has had bad days. Just need to learn._ He took a breath and shut off the shower. He grabbed his towel, mopped his face free of water and dried off some, then padded naked to his locker, where his uniform was hung. His flight suit was draped across the bench.

The door to the men's locker room slammed shut. Oscar had been alone; with no carrier in port, Atsugi was largely deserted, except for the helicopter squadron stationed there. He heard boots squelching on the rubber-lined floor, but Oscar made no move to cover himself as he dried off; modesty was not something to be expected in the barracks or on a carrier. He glanced up as the squelching stopped.

He was not expecting to see Ruby Rose standing there, still in her flight suit. She, clearly, was not expecting to see _him_ standing there, completely naked. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Oscar snatched up his towel and held it over his crotch. It was far too late for that.

"Eep," Ruby squeaked.

"What…what are you doing here?" he stammered. "This is the men's locker room!"

"It…it is?" Ruby looked around, and saw the urinals in the corner. "Uh…oh. Um, sorry. I'll…I'll…go over there…" She retreated backwards until she was out of sight, then he heard her turn and run, skid, curse, and slam the door behind her.

* * *

Oscar left the locker room a few minutes later, dressed in his khakis, and saw that Ruby was waiting for him, leaning against the wall. She looked up at him sheepishly, her cheeks red. "I am _so_ sorry," she said. "I had my head up my ass, and wasn't paying attention…"

"Like me today?" He smiled. "Yeah, I know the feeling."

"Well…" Ruby was now looking at her boots. "Uh…how about dinner tonight? Ren's cooking over at the dorms, and you're invited."

"Um, sure. That sounds good," Oscar replied. He appreciated the invitation; it meant that they weren't going to laugh him out of the flight.

Ruby was quiet for a minute. "I know today was rough. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I have to learn somehow."

"So you've got _no_ combat time? At all?"

"No," Oscar sighed. "I told you. I just graduated a few weeks ago. I mean, I'm carrier qualified, but the closest I've been to combat was watching gun camera videos at Pensacola."

"Well…I'm a lot better than GRIMM are. It's not as tough. I mean, I'm pretty good, I guess…I survived Beacon and all." Ruby shuffled her feet. She felt stupid, even though she'd essentially obliterated Oscar in the air; he might be feeling stupid, but not her. It felt like high school again, when she'd tried to talk to boys she liked, only to have them completely ignore her to court her sister, two years older, much prettier, and with much larger breasts. _This is dumb,_ she told herself. _Okay, so what, I've seen him naked. I mean, I saw Ren naked at Hill. Big whoop. Big deal that he's pretty cut and they must feed him pretty good on that farm in Kansas or wherever the hell he's from and damn, he's really kind of cute and stop it, Ruby!_ "You'll be combat ready in no time, Oscar," she finished lamely. Then she heard Penny Polendina's voice in her head, saying that exact phrase, and felt like crying. "Anyways…I'm going to grab a shower, and then I'll meet you at the dorm, okay? We'll go over the fight today." She held up her hands. "No judgements, Oscar. Believe me, I got my butt handed to me so many times when I was at Signal—"

"How do you handle all this?" he interrupted her quietly.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I'm…" He slowly let out a breath. "I'm scared." No fighter pilot wanted to admit it, but Oscar had to tell someone. It had been bothering him since he'd gotten to Japan, and the shellacking he'd taken this day made it worse. He laughed softly. "I'm more scared than I've ever been in my life, and that includes night carrier landings. Why the hell did I agree to this?"

Ruby wasn't sure how to respond. "Er…I mean, all of us at Beacon, we all volunteered for Vytal Flag because we wanted to be better. And we are. But, I mean, none of us asked for this either. We just have to do our best, and it'll be okay—"

"How can you be so damn confident?" Oscar snapped. "Good God, I've read about you guys! Ruby Flight—I read the dossier that CIA woman gave me. You guys got the shit knocked out of you at Beacon. Your sister got her arm blown off. Your best friend, the Schnee girl, she basically was forced to go home by her dad. And this Marine, Blake Bellawhatever, she ran off. And I don't blame her, given everything you fought—White Fang, air pirates, some kind of giant frigging GRIMM, and now this whoever it is that we're fighting now!" He shook his head. "And you…you _rammed_ the enemy commander! Talk about pure guts!"

"Talk about desperation," Ruby corrected him, her voice small. She still had nightmares about that, and still didn't know how she'd even managed to pull it off, let alone live through it.

"And you come back for more," Oscar continued. "How can you just stand there…and be okay with any of this?" He looked at her. It had felt good to get that off his chest. "It would be one thing if it was orders, but supposedly you're all volunteers!"

Ruby pushed off the wall and walked towards him. She was not angry; in fact, to Oscar, she seemed very sad. "I lost three good friends at Beacon," she told him. "Jaune Arc, Ruth Lionheart, and Penny Polendina. I didn't know them very long, but that doesn't change the fact that they were some of the best, most nicest people and fighter pilots I've ever met. And they were good, Oscar." She stopped. "And it didn't save them. But I don't care. They all thought they were making a difference, and dammit, they were.

"Someone killed Penny, Oscar. But even when she knew that she was screwed, that she couldn't bail out, she told Pyrrha to shoot her down so she wouldn't be a danger to anyone else. Jaune threw himself into a fight he knew he couldn't win. And Ruth—" Ruby hesitated. She didn't know if Ruth's murder was still classified. "—Ruth died trying to expose the people who sabotaged us at Beacon." It was close enough to the truth.

Oscar couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I'm scared too, Oscar. Anyone who says they're not scared is stupid or crazy. But we've got to stand and fight, because if we don't, the bad guys win." She wiped her eyes; Oscar wasn't the only one who needed to get something off their chest. "Jaune, Ruth and Penny…I'd be lying if I said it doesn't really hurt, or I don't think about them every day. I miss them, even though I didn't know them very long. And I miss Weiss and Blake, too, because they weren't just my friends, they were my flight, and I feel like I let them down. At least they're still out there, and from what it sounds like, they're still fighting too." She sighed. "Oscar, if I'd bought the farm at Beacon instead of them—and sometimes I wish I had—I know Jaune, Ruth and Penny would keep the faith, and keep fighting too. So that's why I'm here. I have to keep moving forward. We all do." Suddenly Ruby felt very old, and knew why her father got quiet sometimes.

It was silent in the hallway for a long time. Oscar nodded. "Thanks, Ruby. I…I think I needed that."

"Me too." She felt awkward again. "Um…I'll go grab that shower, and then we'd better hurry before Nora eats everything. It wouldn't be the first time."

"Okay. I'll, uh, wait right here."

She laughed. "You'd better!" She pointed at the women's locker room, laughed again, and walked away. She stopped at the door. "Hey, Oscar. This isn't gonna be easy, this whole thing you've gotten into, but…the fact that you're even trying instead of hauling ass on the next flight home says a lot about you. You're a lot better than you think." Then she went into the locker room.

Oscar watched the door for awhile, though he nearly jumped out of his khakis when another voice piped up behind him. "She really is something, isn't she?" He whirled around to see Pyrrha Nikos there, dressed in her flight suit.

"Uh, yes, ma'am. She…" He chuckled ruefully. "She waxed me bad today, Major. Not even a contest. She must've been one of the best at Beacon, huh?" He still had some pride that needed to be salvaged.

"In some ways. In others, she tripped over her own feet." Pyrrha smiled, staring past him. "She's just like all of us, Ensign. She's got her quirks and faults. She's a little bit damaged. But she's got something else…call it a spark. Something that can inspire us even in the darkest of times." She shrugged. "After all, I'm still here. By all rights, I should be the fourth name on her list of dead friends."

The flat way she said it unnerved Oscar. According to the dossier, Jaune had been Pyrrha's flight leader. From the way she acted, he had a feeling they'd been closer that that. Ruby wasn't the only one who was damaged. "This has to be hard on her too," he observed.

Pyrrha moved past him toward the showers. "It most assuredly is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did Ruby curbstomp Oscar in this, rather than it being more than an even fight? I didn't feel it would contribute to the story, and this Oscar Pine doesn't have Ozpin to help him out, which may be why he seems a little OOC here.
> 
> Qrow's remark about midair collisions, BTW, is entirely true. One of the worst disasters in Japanese history was when a F-86 collided with a 727 north of Tokyo during air combat training. The F-86 pilot got out. The 727 passengers and crew...didn't.


	30. Save Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilia gets her orders from the White Fang: she'll be leading the attack on the Belladonnas. 
> 
> And speaking of them, Sun and Blake have a discussion about Ruby Flight...and Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat short "talky" chapter this time, but we need to catch up with Menagerie. We'll get back to Yang and Weiss next time.
> 
> Also, Neo talks more in this chapter than she ever has in "On RWBY Wings." I try to keep her dialogue to a minimum (since in this story she sort of has to talk), but I liked the interaction between her and Ilia.

_Lossiemouth_

_Upper Scotland, Menagerie_

_16 June 2001_

Ilia Amitola hesitantly walked into the old hangar on the grounds of the former RAF Lossiemouth. The base had been closed in the 1980s, and officially abandoned, except for a local flying club. What few were aware of was that the "flying club" was actually the White Fang's air operation. The US Navy and Royal Navy covered the Greenland-Iceland-UK Barrier from the rare GRIMM attack, and the former air defense radars along the northern Scottish coast were either shut down or converted to air traffic control centers—all of which were manned by Faunus either sympathetic to the White Fang or willing to look the other way when strange contacts took off from Lossiemouth. Ilia herself had not flown to Lossiemouth; she'd driven up to it. The Lake Michigan Massacre and Mountain Glenn had cost the White Fang a great deal of its airpower, and there was no longer a Torchwick Gang to provide easy replacements.

What was there was still impressive, though. In the center was Moonslice, Adam Taurus' forward-swept wing fighter, along with a handful of the ubiquitous F-5 Tiger IIs and a few MiG-21s, the latter provided by Salem. To Ilia's surprise, she saw a British Aerospace Hawk 2000 parked in the corner of the huge hangar, and recognized Neo Politan going over it.

The Albain Brothers were conversing by the door, and both turned and smiled at Ilia as she came in. "Sister Ilia, thank you for meeting with us," Fennec greeted her.

"I didn't have a lot of choice," Ilia smiled, "since I was ordered up here." She bowed her head respectfully. "Speaking of which, what _are_ my orders?" She didn't want to linger longer than she had to. Not if Adam was here.

"You did well at Glasgow the other day," Corsac told her instead.

Ilia sighed. "Not as well as I'd like. I think Ghira Belladonna still commands the loyalty of most Faunus. And High Leader Khan not being elected to the Menagerie Council is a blow to our cause."

"Indeed so, indeed so," Fennec sympathized. "That has put a change in our plans. We may not be attacking Haven after all."

"That makes sense, since they know we're coming," Ilia observed.

"Instead we will be launching a coup right here," Corsac said. "Sienna will seize power directly."

Ilia's eyes rounded in surprise. "If I may speak frankly…"

"Of course."

"It sounds like a bad idea. If Sienna seizes power, what's to stop the British from simply invading Menagerie and putting down the coup?"

Fennec smiled. "The British will do nothing if it's a popular revolution, and in any case, London is quite distracted right now by the embargo crisis and General Ironwood's unilateral activation of Operation Reforger. There will be no opposition. The British will accept the status quo, after the High Leader assures them her intentions are peaceful."

Ilia doubted that, but it didn't show on her face. "Very well. What do you want me to do?"

"For the coup to succeed," Fennec said, "the Belladonnas must be silenced."

While Ilia had been able to conceal her doubt, there was no concealing her shock. _"Silenced?"_

"They stand in the way of progress for our people," Corsac pointed out. "A coup cannot succeed as long as Ghira and Kali live."

"The Belladonnas are still popular!" Ilia argued. "This could backfire—"

"The Faunus will accept the death of the Belladonnas…as long as it's put at the feet of a rogue faction of the White Fang," Fennec told her. "We would never put such a burden on you alone, of course. Your brothers and sisters will be at your side—including myself and my brother." That impressed Ilia; the Albains were experienced fighters, but they rarely took part in actual attacks, preferring to be the public face of the White Fang to the media. "But your relationship with Blake Belladonna makes you an intrical part of the operation."

Icy fear grabbed Ilia's stomach. "Blake?" she asked softly.

"We know how close you are to her," Corsac said. "Rest assured, Commander Taurus has convinced the High Leader to take Miss Belladonna alive. Nonetheless, we cannot risk having her present to defend her family. She is an American Marine, and her knowledge of weaponry and small unit tactics will be…problematic. It will be a difficult assault as it is due to the presence of the Gurkhas."

Ilia thought quickly. It made no sense to kidnap Blake…unless Adam wanted her for himself. That piece clicked into place for her. Sienna Khan was throwing Blake to Adam to pacify him. She might even turn Blake over to Salem to mollify the latter, once Salem learned that the attack on Haven would be cancelled. "I don't know," she said. "The people of Menagerie—"

"—will come to understand what happens to those who speak out against the White Fang," Corsac finished, his eyes blazing with fanaticism. "They will follow Sienna either out of love or fear. Either is acceptable."

Seeing that she was far from convinced, Fennec put a comradely hand on her shoulder. "It's a necessary sacrifice, Ilia."

Ilia paused, then bowed her head once more. "By the High Leader's command. When do we strike?"

"Within the week," Corsac answered. "It will be at night."

The chameleon Faunus nodded, took her leave, and walked away. Unsure of where to go, she wandered over to Moonslice, and jumped when Adam suddenly appeared from under the aircraft. For once, he was wearing neither his black flight suit or his sword, but a pair of overalls stained with oil and hydraulic fluid. "Good afternoon, Ilia."

"Hello, Adam."

He smiled at her and patted the needle nose of his fighter. "Doing some routine maintenance." He nodded towards the Albains, who were leaving the hangar. "They told you?"

"Yes." She needed to talk to someone, and oddly enough, Adam might actually be helpful for once. Blake had always been his weakness, and he might not agree with risking her life in a confused night attack. "I think it's a bad idea, Adam. Attacking the Belladonnas. We could easily make Ghira and Kali martyrs."

"A risk we'll have to take."

She kept trying. "Sienna's risking a lot. The British could intervene. And if we're calling off the attack on Haven, Salem will be very upset." Ilia glanced around for Hazel, but the big human wasn't present.

Adam picked at his fingernails for oil. "Oh, we'll still be attacking Haven," he said lightly. "We have enough troops to do both attacks."

Ilia turned on him. She was getting plenty of shocks this day. "But…Adam, they know we're coming!"

"They _think_ we're coming," he corrected her. "And they believe we're headed for Atsugi. We're not. We will strike somewhere else."

"Where?"

Adam laughed, reached out, and wiped a bit of oil on her nose. "Sorry, Ilia, that's on a need to know basis. If you should get captured attacking the Belladonnas, we can't have you spilling the beans to MI6 or the CIA, can we?"

"I suppose so," Ilia replied, wiping her nose. "But why?"

"We need Salem on our side," Adam said. "Not against us."

Unfortunately, Ilia mused to herself, that made a great deal of sense. "Does Sienna know?"

"She will." He leaned against the nose. "You'll be leading the attack. Make sure you kill everyone but Blake." His smile faded. "I mean it, Ilia. _Slaughter_ them. I have a promise to keep to Blake." His voice was suddenly ice.

"W-What are you going to do to her?" Ilia couldn't keep the fear out of her voice. She would never be used to his sudden mood swings.

Adam's smile returned. "Nothing, Ilia. But after her parents and that moron of a monkey Faunus are dead, and with her friends scattered across the planet—your old adversary Weiss Schnee is dead, by the way, killed by air pirates in California—then Blake will have nowhere left to run." He wiped his hands on the overall. "She'll come around, Ilia. She will."

"Sure." Ilia gave him a brittle smile, wondering if Adam was trying to convince her or himself. "I'll be right back. I have to use the little Faunus girl's room."

"Of course." He ducked back down underneath the nose. "Oh, Ilia…cell phone coverage is terrible up here." She stared at him. "Just saying."

* * *

Ilia walked briskly to the ladies' room. Once inside, she headed into one of the stalls and threw up her breakfast. _Oh my God,_ she thought, her mind racing as she heaved, _Adam knows. He knows I'm a spy._ She shuddered, and tried to get hold of herself, fight down the panic. _No, wait. He can't be sure. If he was, he'd kill me. No, Ilia, he_ suspects _. He'll probably tell the Albains to arrange an accident for me in the attack—or Sienna will blame the whole thing on me. I'll be held up as the 'leader' of the rogue faction, acting on Adam's orders._ She flushed the toilet, lowered the lid, and sat down. _And Adam's right. Cell phone coverage is bad up here, and he'll be watching me. I can't contact Arashikaze._ "Shit," she said aloud.

She heard the ladies' bathroom door open and shut, and heard the click of boots across the cracked tile. Ilia got to her feet, flushed the toilet again to cover herself, and opened the stall. To her surprise, it was Neo, touching up her makeup in the mirror. "Uh, hello," Ilia said. Neo gave her an absent nod. Ilia went to the sink and began washing her hands, and nearly jumped when Neo spoke. "I never thanked you for rescuing Roman," she said.

"Sorry he got killed," Ilia said, and didn't have to fake sorrow. Roman Torchwick was a bastard, but despite herself, she'd found him a likeable bastard.

"That Adam guy is batshit," Neo observed. She smacked her lips and checked her lipstick; her lips were bright pink. She glanced at Ilia. "And I know batshit when I see it."

"He carries a tremendous burden," Ilia said diplomatically.

"Mmm. Well, I won't be around to see any of it." Neo shut her lipstick case. "Leaving in a couple of minutes."

"You won't be joining us?" Ilia was actually quite relieved; Neo apparently was as good as her reputation said she was.

"Nope. I did my bit. And I have my own promise to keep." She put her makeup case in her purse; Ilia decided on not telling her that it was a bad idea to wear makeup in the cockpit of a fighter. If there was ever a fire, the makeup would burn like jet fuel.

Ilia shut off the tap. "May I ask what it is?"

Neo smiled, and Ilia thought it was just as frightening as Adam's. Her heterochromatic eyes sparkled. "Sure. I'm going to kill Cinder Fall, and then I'm going to kill Ruby Rose." She shrugged. "Or the other way around. I'm not picky." She slapped Ilia on the butt as she left the bathroom, eliciting a squeak from the surprised Faunus. "Have fun storming the castle!"

* * *

_The Belladonna Lodge_

_Paisley, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_16 June 2001_

Sun Wukong was pulling off his boots when there was a knock on the door of the guest room. "Yeah?" he called out.

Blake opened the door and stuck her head in. "You decent?"

"Yeah. I've even got my shirt still on."

"Aww." She walked in and shut the door behind her with her foot, because her hands were full with four bottles of Guiness beer. "Nightcap?"

"Don't mind if I do." She handed him two of the beers and threw him a bottle opener, while she sat on the floor with the other two. "Long day, huh?" Sun said.

"Very," Blake sighed. She leaned against the wall. "All that work, and all we got is twenty names."

Sun took an angry pull at his beer. "I don't get it! How can they just sit around and do nothing with the White Fang getting ready to attack? They were cheering your dad like a rock star yesterday!"

"Because not everyone is like you and me," Blake answered tiredly. "The Faunus here in Menagerie—the ones that weren't born here—a lot of them came here because they were tired of fighting, and having to constantly struggle against bigotry. Menagerie is filled with people who just want to be left alone." She took a drink. "And here we are, asking them to fly halfway across the world and put their lives on the line for humans that they don't know and don't care about. And don't know or care about them."

Sun stared into his beer. "I guess I never really thought about it like that."

"The problem is, Sun…they're wrong. Whatever happens in Japan is going to affect them whether they care or not. _We_ know we can't stick our head in the sand and pretend that we're safe anywhere. They don't, or don't want to believe it." Blake thumped her head against the wall. "And they're scared. They're scared if they sign up, the White Fang will kill them. And they're _not_ wrong about that." She remembered a few White Fang missions she had gone on, where Adam would "convince" recalcitrant Faunus to support the White Fang. Usually people wound up missing parts of their body. It was one of the reasons she had left. "Marie Mata's son really wants to come with us, but his mother sits on the Council. She's afraid."

"So how do we convince them?" Sun asked.

"Tell them if Adam succeeds in attacking Japan, the world won't just blame the White Fang. They'll blame the Faunus as a race." Her hand tightened around the beer bottle. "He creates more anti-Faunus racism than he's ever solved."

"Adam," Sun mused. "He's the guy you went up against over Beacon? The one who got Yang? Didn't you used to be…" His voice trailed off at the glare in her eyes. Sun covered his eyes. "Shit, Blake, I'm sorry. Forget I brought that up."

"No, it's okay." Blake took a breath. She couldn't keep running from that, either. Both Adam and Yang were not going to remain quiet in her memories. And Sun would understand—about Yang, anyway. She took another drink. "Have you ever met one person and thought to yourself that they are the personification of a certain word?'

"Not really." He laughed. "Blake, I went to college at Florida State, where I majored in business administration and partying."

"But you're Chinese."

"Lot of Chinese folks go to American schools. Besides, Beijing University isn't known for its partying." He tipped his beer to her. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

"Okay. So…like Ruby. I got to know her and I thought that she embodies purity. Well, aside from the time she got drunk off her ass at Beacon." They both shared a laugh at that. "Weiss? When we learned to be friends and not kill each other, she was the personification of defiance. She was a Schnee, but she was her own person, not her father's."

"What about Yang?" Sun knew he was opening up a wound, but he was curious.

"Yang?" Blake smiled wistfully. "Strength. Yang is the strongest person I know. She'll come back from losing her arm stronger and more ornery than she was before. That's who she is." _That's who I_ hope _you are, Yang,_ Blake thought. She realized just how much she missed the blonde's exuberance, and finished off her beer, then cracked open the other one.

Sun finished his first as well. "What am I?"

"A pain in the ass." She giggled at the shocked look on his face. "I'm kidding, Sun. I'm not sure, really, but I'm leaning towards earnest." She tossed him the bottle opener.

He caught it with his tail and opened the second beer—with his hand, not his tail. "I was hoping for sexy, but I'll take earnest."

"Well, you're _that_ , too." Blake waggled her eyebrows. She knew she was flirting with Sun, and found that she didn't really care. She liked him. She remembered when she had been sitting on the bed in her room, just down the hall, and Adam had been sitting on the floor while they passed a bottle of Ghira's scotch between them and solved the world's problems-among other things.

The thought of Adam did a nice job of killing the mood, and Blake got to her feet. She began to pace. "Adam…"

"We don't have to talk about that asshole," Sun offered.

Blake took a drink and shook her head. "No, I want to…a little." She looked at the ceiling, as if for guidance. "At first, I thought Adam was justice. Then I thought he represented passion. But over time, I realized I was wrong—Adam wasn't _any_ of those things. He was spite. Not hatred, not rage—spite." She stopped and faced Sun. "He doesn't want equality, Sun, no matter how much he talks a good game about it. He only wants revenge and suffering for what he feels the world did to him." She sat down on the bed next to Sun, cradling her beer. "I'm worried about my friend Ilia, Sun. She's not like Adam—not yet, anyway—but I don't know how long that will last. She's angry too…and she has good reason, mind you. But I'm worried that Adam will turn her into something like himself." She chuckled softly. "God, I'm such a lightweight. One and a half beers and I'm already drunkenly rambling."

"No sweat." Sun took a sip. Guinness was strong beer—he thought it was more like eating beer than drinking it—and he didn't need to get drunk at Blake's house. It might lead to something. "So Little Miss Ball Breaker was your friend, huh?"

Blake almost spit her beer across the room. "Asshole! I wasn't expecting that." She wiped her mouth. "But…yes. She was my friend." She leaned back on the bed. "Ilia was strange. Her chameleon traits meant she could pass as a human. She could've just lived a normal life _as_ a human, but she didn't. I respect her for that. Always have."

"What made her join the White Fang?"

"Both of her parents died in a mining accident—one of the mines owned by the Schnees. As soon as she was old enough, she joined. Both of us joined at the same time…Ilia for revenge, me…" Blake rolled her eyes. "Because I was in love, if you can believe it. In love with that jerk Adam." She finished off the beer. "My parents warned me about him, and tried to get me to leave. I told them to fuck off. I didn't need them. I had Adam and Ilia." She leaned forward and set the beer down. "I was a damn fool, Sun."

It was quiet in the room for a long moment. "You know we might have to fight her eventually," Sun said into the silence. "You heard her at the speech."

"I know."

"What are you going to do?"

Blake sat up and smiled at him. "If she gives me a chance to, I'm going to try and help her the way you helped me."

Sun looked surprised. "Me? What did I do?"

"You smacked some sense into me," she replied. "You showed me that sometimes you've got to be there for a friend even when they don't want you to be. After Beacon, Sun, I was just drowning in guilt for abandoning Ruby Flight, and fear of Adam. I tried to push you away, but you're a contrary asshole, so you didn't give up on me." She stood up. "And I'm not giving up on Ilia. _Or_ Ruby Flight. Once we're done here, I swear I'm going to get back with my friends. _Our_ friends." She reached the door and looked back at him. "I think it's about time I saved my friends for once, don't you?"

"As Yang would say," Sun grinned, "fuckin' A." His grin faded as Blake didn't open the door. Instead, she locked it. "What are you doing?"

Blake was dressed casually in a light blouse and jeans. As Sun watched with an increasingly dry mouth, she reached up and pulled off the blouse. "Thanking you."

"Uh…you sure?"

Blake unbuttoned her pants and shimmied out of them. "Very." Her heart was thudding in her chest. It had been a very long time since Adam, she wanted Sun, and she wasn't running anymore. "Do you have any objections?"

Sun pulled off his T-shirt so fast he tore it. "Hell no." He paused. "But, uh, what about your parents?" He had a mental image of Ghira Belladonna twisting his head off.

"They're asleep. Mom and Dad go to bed early." She stepped over to the bed and pushed him down on it.

"Oh, I see. Marines got to be on top, huh?" Sun expertly unsnapped her bra. Thoughts of Ghira murdering him disappeared at the sight of her breasts.

She licked his chest like an animal. "From the halls of Montezuma…" she began to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, a little Black Sun! I'm totally a Bumblebee shipper, but don't mind Black Sun, and honestly, it felt right for this story. Blake is lonely, and Sun's been there for her.
> 
> The reason for the aside about Sun's college career is that I had to explain why he uses a lot of American slang. In canon RWBY, everyone does, but in this AU, I felt it needed a bit of explanation.


	31. Mama Liked the Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang and Raven finally have their confrontation, with Weiss at stake. Raven has some secrets to share with Yang, but is Yang willing to listen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation between Yang and Raven. Sparks will fly!

_Palmdale_

_California Dead Zone, United States of America_

_16 June 2001_

Vernal—she didn't know her last name, and didn't care—walked to the cinder block storage house that had been converted to a prison. She'd shown Yang to the barracks where she could clean up, then went over to fetch Weiss Schnee. She sighed; probably the Schnee girl was going to whine and complain about the accommodations not being up to her standard. Vernal had little time for anyone who had not grown up in the Dead Zones, where survival was something you fought for every day. Two guards trailed behind her, their assault rifles slung over their shoulders.

She unlocked the door to the storage, and opened it. "Yo, Schnee. You've got a visitor. Get your skinny ass—" To her surprise, there was no one there. The food was gone, the bed was slept in, but Weiss was nowhere to be found. "What the hell…" Vernal ran into the room, searching frantically. There was no escape from this place; there were no windows—

Above her, one of the acoustic tiles in the ceiling fell in, and Weiss dropped downwards. Vernal's reflexes, honed by living in the Dead Zones all her life, were enough that she dodged the former heiress' jump, but not the bucket Weiss hit her in the head with. Stunned, Vernal wavered, and it was enough for Weiss to grab her with her left hand, spin around to use the bandit as a human shield, and with her right draw one of the M1911s Vernal wore on her belt—one of Rick Tardor's Colts. The guards unslung their rifles, but Weiss put the gun to Vernal's head. "Put your weapons on the ground! Do it or she dies!"

Vernal blinked away the spots in her vision. "What the hell do you think—"

Weiss jammed the barrel into Vernal's temple. "Shut up!" She glared at the guards. "Do it!" Both the guards looked at each other, then slowly put the weapons on the concrete floor. "Step back from them! Hands behind your head!"

"Dammit, Schnee!" Vernal shouted. "You don't have a chance at—"

"According to you, it's either this or get sold to a Tijuana whorehouse," Weiss hissed in her ear. "Other pistol. Two fingers. On the floor." She pressed the Colt into the bandit's head even harder. "I've got nothing to lose now. And if you don't think I can't kill you and them, I'll have you know I took second in the Luftwaffe marksmanship competition last year." Vernal carefully took the other Colt out as instructed and let it clatter to the floor. "You two," she addressed the guards. "Get on the floor. Hands spread out, heads down. Either of you twitch, and I'll scatter her brains all over the walls." To Vernal, she said, "Start moving." As Vernal walked forward, Weiss kicked the other pistol out of reach.

"This isn't necessary," Vernal said calmly. Death was so commonplace in the Dead Zones that one lost their fear of it rather quickly. "Besides, I came to get you. You have a friend."

"I don't have any friends left," Weiss snarled. She kept Vernal moving forward, watching the guards; both men obeyed her and stayed face-down. She blinked as they walked into the hot sunlight. There were other guards now, and they stared at Vernal and Weiss. Some of them hesitantly went for weapons, but stopped when they saw the look in Weiss' eyes.

"Where's your aircraft?" Weiss asked Vernal.

"You'll never get out of here," Vernal warned her.

"I'll take my chances. Now again, where is—"

" _Weiss?"_

To her credit, Weiss neither turned at the sound of the voice behind her, nor did she let go of Vernal. She felt the other woman tense up for a move, and reminded her of the pistol again. Slowly, she turned both of them around.

Yang Xiao Long, dressed in her flight suit, stood there with a grin on her face—that maddening, devil-may-care grin that had annoyed Weiss when they first met, but one the former heiress had missed. "Yang?" Weiss asked, stunned. "What…where did you come from?"

"She's here to rescue you," Vernal said with an ironic laugh. "I was actually taking her to you."

Weiss closed her eyes. " _Schiesse._ " She let go of Vernal and stepped back, hands in the air. Vernal waved the other bandits down, then held out her hand. Weiss reluctantly gave back the M1911; Vernal holstered it. There was new respect in her eyes. "Not bad, Schnee," she said. "You might've been able to pull that off." She motioned Weiss over to Yang.

The two former members of Ruby Flight reunited. "You look like shit," Yang said.

"I love you too, Yang," Weiss replied sarcastically. Both were grinning now, stupidly, and neither cared. Then, to Yang's surprise, Weiss hugged her.

* * *

Raven Branwen didn't live in one of the outlying buildings; she actually lived in a tent, within sprinting distance of the big hangar that still wore the faded emblem of the Lockheed Skunk Works. The tent was drab, painted so it would blend into the desert around the hangar, but the interior was cooled by fans powered by a generator, and looked to Yang like something out of _Arabian Nights._ They sat on cushions piled up around a low table, with other cushions and a large, comfortable looking futon in one corner. Vernal—who was careful to stay out of arm's reach of Weiss, Yang noticed—poured them steaming cups of tea. A plate of cookies was set out, and though Weiss took two, Yang didn't touch them. Raven watched her, sighed, then took a cookie for herself and ate it, to prove it wasn't poisoned or drugged. Yang still didn't take one; she wasn't hungry. She did take a sip of tea. Raven nodded to Vernal, dismissing her, then lounged against her cushion. She had changed out of her flight suit, and instead wore an airy, comfortable-looking kimono; Yang was reminded of Blake's sleepwear. Her mother's hair was caught up in a red bandanna, though it was still wild around her face and shoulders. All of them had removed their footwear before entering the tent.

Mother and daughter watched each other for a moment, then Yang spoke. "So, what were you going to spout off, Raven?" Yang pointedly used her mother's first name.

Raven did not seem to notice. "Tea is good, but I wish we had coffee. It's harder to get out here."

"Your daughter asked you a question," Weiss told her.

The bandit leader turned pitiless eyes on Weiss, and pointed with her teacup at Yang. "She gets to live. You I haven't made up my mind about, so shut your fucking mouth." She took another sip and set down the teacup, and sat back again, putting one knee up. "What I was going to spout off, Yang, was to tell you the truth…and the truth is, the _actual_ truth is rather hard to come by in our business." She looked towards the ceiling of the tent. "I imagine Qrow has told Ruby and her friends a lot of stories."

"He's never given us a reason to doubt him before," Yang said.

"That doesn't mean those reasons don't exist," Raven answered. She smiled at Yang's murderous glare. "You know, you and your flight might as well be on recruiting posters. Your motives and your nationalities might be different, but you all joined up to try and make the world a better place." She sniffed a laugh. "It's adorable."

"Yeah, imagine that," Yang growled. "Not everyone is a selfish asshole. It's what fighter pilots do."

"Not all of them, Yang. Some people are just in it for the money. Others do it because they want to be famous. And then there's us." Raven twirled a finger in the air, including everyone in the tent. "We joined because we want to be the best of the best. We all have something to prove. The two of you are trying to prove that you're better than your parents—better than your ass of a father, Schnee, and better than me, Yang." She shrugged. "Your Uncle Qrow and I didn't join the Air Force just to become fighter pilots. We joined up to learn how to _kill_ fighter pilots."

Weiss nearly dropped her teacup in shock, and Yang looked shocked. Raven chuckled. "Daddy and Uncle left that part out, huh?" She poured more tea. "Aside from the GRIMM, the Remnant was the only thing capable of ruining our little independent lifestyle here, and hunting us down. When Qrow and I were volunteered to join, it was because our parents decided the Branwen Tribe needed a counterforce against the government. The US was still recovering from World War III, but once it did, it would reclaim California—and we didn't want it to. And Qrow and I were the perfect age."

"Didn't the government know who you were?" Weiss asked.

Raven laughed. "There was so much chaos in the decade after the nuclear exchange, nobody knew who was who. It was easy to come up with a fake background, and that we were orphans." She sipped her tea. "Basic was a summer vacation. Even flight training was easy—apparently Qrow and I have some natural talent in that regard. Our instructor said we could outfly the birds. We were good." Raven smiled wistfully, remembering. "We were very good." She set down her teacup and stood. "So good that we caught the attention of one Captain Oscar Ozpin. He watched us, along with two other up and coming young pilots—a gawky kid from North Carolina with the weird name of Taiyang Xiao Long, and a cute girl with silver eyes from Arizona named Summer Rose. He made sure we all got assigned to the same squadron, and eventually we became Strike Flight. Oh, he took care of us." The other two girls could hear the bitterness in Raven's voice.

"What do you mean by that?" Yang wanted to know.

"Oh, constant attention from Ozpin, orders to where he wanted us to go, extra training, turning a blind eye to whenever we broke the rules—like when we'd tear up a bar that was off-limits or something." Raven smiled at them. "Sound familiar?"

_Shit,_ Yang thought, _was she spying on me when I tore up Junior's club in Madison?_ "What's your point?"

Raven paused, still standing. "How much do you know about Ozpin? About his past?"

Yang didn't answer, so Weiss did. "Well…he was a Medal of Honor awardee. Navy."

"Yeah, he flew F-8s in the 60s and the early 70s. I guess they grounded him and he started running the Vytal Flag program out of Beacon," Yang said.

Raven inspected her fingernails. "Oh, he wasn't grounded. He grounded himself. And it wasn't just Vytal Flag he designed, or Strike Flight that he recruited. He designed Red Flag, _and_ Top Gun down there in Key West. And he made sure that he had friends in every nation with a decent air force in the world. England. Germany. Japan. Israel. Iran. Ozpin had friends everywhere that were loyal to him and his cause, even above their own nations."

"Against the GRIMM," Weiss added. "It makes sense. He wanted to present a united front to the GRIMM."

"Not just the GRIMM," Raven corrected her. "Because, you see…old man Oz had a great and terrible secret. One that would lead to another world war, and one he eventually entrusted to our team. Once I knew that secret, there was no going back. I wanted to know more, but every time I learned something new…the more horrifying the world became." Yang noticed her mother suppress a shudder. Something was coming that had even frightened Raven Branwen.

"Okay, then tell us," Yang said. "What's the big secret?" She used her fingers to make scare quotes. "What's so crazy that the rest of us don't know?"

Raven glared at her daughter's flippant answer. "How about that the GRIMM _do_ have a master—a woman named Salem?" Weiss gasped, causing Yang to look at her in surprise, then she realized that Weiss didn't know about Salem. For that matter, Raven didn't know that Yang already knew herself. Her mother, however, hadn't noticed Yang's lack of reaction.

"Who is she?" Weiss asked.

Raven was quiet for a long few moments. "We don't know, exactly. Oz didn't know…or he didn't tell us if he did. All we know is that she harnessed the power of what was left of the Soviet Union, and created the GRIMM." She looked at Yang. "What we do know is she can't be stopped. God knows we tried. We can't even find her. Summer _died_ trying to find her." Yang was surprised to see Raven briefly lose her composure—it was very brief, but there was pain still there. Somewhere deep down, Raven still missed who had been her best friend. "She can't be stopped," Raven repeated. "She can't be reasoned with. And she wants nothing less than all of humanity and Faunuskind at her feet."

Weiss set down her teacup. "That's…all this time…there _was_ someone running the GRIMM."

"Is. Salem is still alive. She's out there right now. Beacon was her doing," Raven explained. Then she looked at Yang again. "I tried to warn you."

Now Yang got to her feet. "Why in the hell should we believe _any_ of this?"

Raven nodded at her. "Now you're catching on, Yang. So far, you've done nothing but be a good little pilot, accepting what others tell you without question. But now, you need to start questioning everything. Otherwise, you'll end up just as blind as Qrow…and your fool of a father."

Yang shot across the table, throwing a right hook that would've broken Raven's jaw, had it connected. As it was, it came close as Raven jumped back. Yang slid to a halt on one of the cushions, her teeth bared. " _Shut the fuck up!"_ she shouted. "You don't get to talk about him like that, you fucking bitch!"

All of them had forgotten Vernal's presence in the room; the younger bandit had been sitting at the tent flap, just inside. Now she was on her feet, the M1911 raised and pointed at Yang in a steady grip. "You need to calm down," she ordered.

Weiss, now the only person still seated, checked all three women, briefly considered decking Vernal with the teapot, then decided she wasn't that fast. Neither was Yang. "Yang, please," she pleaded.

"Listen to your friend, Yang," Raven told her daughter. "Your flight has never let you down before."

Yang couldn't make up her mind if Raven was being sarcastic or not. All she wanted was to plant steel fingers between the woman's eyes. "You don't know the first thing about Ruby Flight," she snarled. "You don't know the first thing about me. You were never there, remember? You bugged out, and left Dad holding the bag with me. You. Fucking. _Ran._ "

Raven was silent for a moment; Weiss noticed the bandit leader's hands curl into fists. "I know more than you realize." There was a tightness in her voice; Weiss could tell that some of Yang's words had hit home. "Not just about you, and not just about what I've been told, but things I've seen with my own eyes. I know the GRIMM have a leader. I knew before the fall of Beacon that there were orbital weapons flying around. And I know there's a lot of shit out there that no one wants to admit exists. Genetic experimentation, nuclear weapons. You name it." She walked past Yang, pushed Vernal's pistol down, bent over, and grabbed her boots. "Follow me. I want to show you something."

Yang and Weiss got their shoes on as well, and followed Raven across the hot, cracked tarmac to the Skunk Works hangar. She went through a side door into a dusty hallway, took a key from a pocket in her kimono, and unlocked a second door, ushering them inside. She walked forward, leaving Weiss and Yang to gape.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Raven said, her voice echoing through the hangar. She ran her hand across the downturned wingtips. "Meet the X-31 Night Raven. Appropriately named…but then again, I _was_ the test pilot for it. They were going to name it something different if it went into production…Foxfire or something. Quite a step up from those early A-model F-15s and F-16s Summer and I flew, to say nothing of the F-4 Qrow and Tai flew." She walked around it, and motioned the two to come closer.

Yang had seen the Night Raven when it had shot Neo Politan off her tail over Mountain Glenn, but it had been a fleeting glimpse. It was a big aircraft, half again as large as a F-15, with a dogtoothed delta wing that blended smoothly into the fuselage. The nose stuck out like a vulture, chiseled for stealth; the bottom of the fuselage, save for the heavy, stalklike landing gear, was smooth. The intakes were above the wing, set back to reduce its infrared signature, and only a short distance from two immense engines—its one weak point, Yang thought, because the engines were not baffled like those on the YF-23; those exhausts would give off a large heat source from the rear. Two canted tails stuck up from the engine casings. Raven walked under the nose; she didn't have to bend over, and she was not a short woman. "She's a beauty."

"You done bragging?" Yang folded her arms across her breasts.

Raven laughed. "Not yet. Because you don't know it's true purpose." She did have to bend over to get under the fuselage, where she tapped it. "Titanium construction, like the SR-71. Capable of Mach 3 as easy as breathing. Stealthy—not only is the aircraft itself designed to reflect radar waves, but it also projects false radar signatures around it."

"It's an interceptor," Weiss said.

Raven waggled a finger at her. "Not quite. That was the original prototype's designed purpose, yes. Its design began in the Soviet Union even before the nukes flew. Strike Flight managed to get into what was left of western Russia to steal the plans for it. We came out through Norway, with every damn GRIMM in existence nipping at our heels. And then Ozpin assembled what was left of the Skunk Works team in Texas to build it. It made its first flight on August 28, 1977." She leaned against the nose gear, smiling at Yang.

"A month after I was born." Yang put the pieces together. Her left hand began to shake. "And you stole it two months after that."

"Yes. The USAF wanted it as an interceptor, Yang, equipped with the prototype of DUST and with enough firepower to destroy a Nevermore on its own. But not Ozpin. He wanted it as a high-speed nuclear delivery platform. It would approach a target by stealth, drop its nuke, and then speed off at Mach 3. I confronted him over it, and he admitted it." Raven shook her head. "He lied to us, Yang. He told Strike Flight the Night Raven would be used strictly as an interceptor. And I was tired of the lies. So I stole it and returned to the tribe."

"And abandoned me," Yang finished.

"I had no choice," Raven said. She smacked a palm into the underside of the nose, eliciting a hollow bong. "This…thing…was more important than any of us, Yang. Me, you, your father, Strike Flight—everyone."

"Bullshit," Yang snapped. "Fucking bullshit."

Raven sighed. "All right. You can choose to believe me or not. If you don't, then hop back in your Black Widow and fly out of here."

Yang's anger was knocked out of her. "Wait. You're letting us go?"

"I'm giving you a choice, Yang—and you, Weiss." She stepped forward, spreading her hands. "You can stay here with me, and I'll not only answer your questions, I'll give you a place in my tribe. Both of you. You're immensely talented, Miss Schnee, and since you left your family and went AWOL, your career in the Luftwaffe is over. As soon as you set foot in any civilized nation again, you'll be arrested. You'll certainly never fly again." She walked up to Yang, and put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "As for you, we can make a fresh start." Yang shrugged off the hand, and Raven sighed again. "Or, you can leave, go back to Qrow, and join a dead man's impossible war against Salem, and meet the same end as he did, and a lot of other people better than him, like Summer." Her reddish-brown eyes met Yang's lilac ones. "But can you _really_ go back to trusting someone that's kept so much from you?"

Yang didn't even hesitate. "All I care about is making sure my sister is safe, and that Weiss gets out of here."

Raven let out a long breath, and glanced at Weiss. "My offer still stands, Weiss, even if Yang doesn't accept it."

"No, thank you," Weiss told her.

Raven's eyebrows went up. "After what I just said? About going to prison?"

"You think this wouldn't be one?" Weiss countered.

The bandit leader was quiet. She walked back to the Night Raven, and once more ran her fingers over it, almost lovingly. "Very well." She looked back at Yang. "If you side with your uncle, I may not be as kind the next time we meet."

"You weren't kind this time, either," Yang replied.

"I suppose not." Raven nodded at Weiss. "You take off in your F-23. I'll have Vernal fly Weiss down to Tijuana in one of our F-4s. It's a Navy F-4, Weiss, so don't think about trying to hijack poor Vernal again—there's no backseat controls like in the Air Force birds. You can escort them there, Yang. You should have enough fuel left. Sorry, I don't have the missiles to spare."

"When do we leave?"

"As soon as you want."

"Good." Yang tapped Weiss' shoulder, and turned her back on her mother. "Let's get out of here." Without looking back, the two women left the hangar, leaving Raven alone with her aircraft.

She stood there for a very long time.

* * *

_General Abelardo Rodriguez International Airport_

_Tijuana, United Mexican States_

_16 June 2001_

It was dark by the time Yang, Vernal and Weiss reached Tijuana. Weiss noticed that Vernal was careful to fly in from the east; the other approach would take them over the irradiated remains of San Diego and the Pacific Ocean. She knew why: the Navy was not in a particularly good mood, and any suspected air pirates that flew past the coast were fair game. As it was, the setting sun caught the ruins of San Diego just right, enough that Weiss could see the glittering of trinitite, the fusion of land, buildings, and people where the one-megaton nuclear weapon, launched from a Soviet submarine far offshore, had detonated in the city. Over 200,000 people had died, and San Diego was now a memory, aside from a few people that remained in Chula Vista, eking out an existence by salvaging the ruins.

Tijuana, however, had survived, spared the fallout by favorable winds, and even prospered—more or less. As Rick Tardor had told her, it was ruled by various gangs, only nominally still part of Mexico. Still, the gangs left downtown Tijuana alone as a neutral area, and that included the airport. At least to the point, according to Vernal, that opening fire on aircraft on approach was generally discouraged.

Yang let the ancient F-4J flown by Vernal land first, having radioed ahead that they were coming, and then followed once the Phantom pulled off the runway. Both taxied to the Mexican Air Force side of the airport. Vernal followed the ground crewman's light wands, and stopped, then powered down the engines. She raised the canopies, but didn't get out. "I take it you're not going into town," Weiss said, unstrapping as another ground crewman put a ladder up to the rear cockpit.

"Nope. TJ's a fun place, but I'm not really in a fun mood." She did unstrap, enough to look behind her as Weiss climbed out. The former heiress took off her helmet and left it sitting in the seat; her own helmet was still in Germany. "You got to be crazy to turn down Raven's offer. You'd go pretty far in the tribe."

"I might," Weiss admitted. "Assuming the tribe has much further to go."

Vernal shook her head. "Well…hell…good luck, Schnee." She hesitated, then reached down into her shoulder holster. She handed Weiss the Colt. "A going away present."

Weiss took the gun. "Rick had two of these."

Vernal shrugged. "I'll keep the other one. Prize of war."

Weiss shrugged too—short of killing Vernal, she wasn't getting the other pistol back. She climbed down the ladder and fell back, as Vernal told the ground crew in Spanish that she was taking off again. Weiss didn't watch the Phantom leave; instead, she walked over to Yang, who was already beginning her postflight inspection of the F-23. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Yang said tightly. "Pissed off, but I'm okay."

"I'm sorry." Weiss felt like someone should apologize.

Yang looked up from under the Black Widow, and suddenly smiled. "Nothing to apologize about, Weissy. Ruby's going to go apeshit when she sees you."

"She'll go even more apeshit when I'm led away in chains," Weiss sighed. Then both women saw three people walking towards them. They came to attention and saluted; luckily, the _Fuerza Aerea Mexicana_ used ranks very similar to the USAF's. The person in the lead was a Colonel; the other man was a lieutenant, while the third, a redhaired woman that reminded Weiss of Pyrrha Nikos, was in civilian clothes. The Colonel returned their salutes, then smiled. In the lights of the military terminal, he was rather handsome for an older man, Weiss thought. They shook hands. "Colonel Alejandro Montero," he introduced himself. "This is Lieutenant Jose Sieres, and Sister Shannon Masters."

Weiss saw the large silver crucifix Masters wore. "Sister?"

"I'll explain later," Masters replied.

"Lieutenant Sieres will see to your aircraft," Montero told Yang.

Sieres grinned. "I'll take good care of her, Captain. I'll even wash the windshield and change the oil." Yang returned the grin, but only reluctantly left the F-23—like, Weiss thought involuntarily, a mother afraid to leave her child.

Montero led them into the hangar attached to the terminal as the airport shook from Vernal's afterburners. Once inside, Yang gave a low whistle. "Wow! I didn't know you guys had gotten F-20s, sir."

The colonel smiled proudly. "Our first batch of six. Unfortunately, the F-5s we purchased from the United States are getting rather long in the tooth, so we bought F-20s rather than have Brazil upgrade our Tigers. Took a bit for Northrop to restart production, but our President and President Shawcross came to an understanding." He paused. "My understanding was that the President was convinced by your commander at Beacon, Captain Ozpin, to provide the aircraft. I was very sorry to hear of his passing."

"Yeah, us too," Yang said absently, forgetting rank in the memory of what Raven had told her only a few hours before, about Ozpin cultivating contacts in every air force. She wondered if Colonel Montero was one of those contacts.

Weiss noticed that there were just the four of them in the hangar, and guessed correctly because Montero didn't want anyone else to hear what he had to say—or see what he was going to do. Suddenly she was very tired. "Colonel, with respect. There's no reason to beat around the bush, as it were. You undoubtedly have orders to arrest me, so…allow me to take my leave of my friend here, and we'll get it over with."

Montero and Masters shared a glance, and both of them grinned at each other. Then both began to laugh. Weiss and Yang shared a glance too, but neither of them laughed. "What's going on?" Yang asked. "I mean, I'd prefer Weiss _not_ get arrested and court-martialed…"

"And she won't be," Masters told them. She reached into a pocket of her slacks, and pulled out several folded pieces of paper. "This was actually meant to be given to you when Mr. Tardor and yourself reached Tijuana." She turned somber. "I suppose he won't be joining us."

"No," Weiss replied sadly. "He was killed by the Branwen Tribe. They only took me prisoner because they thought they could ransom me."

" _Hijo de puta,"_ Montero cursed. " _Banditos._ We kill them when we can, which unfortunately is not often." He shook his head. "Tardor was a good man."

Masters handed Weiss the papers. "We will mourn him later. For now, here are your orders."

"Orders?" Weiss opened the paper, and her eyes widened to the point that Yang wondered if they were going to pop out. She wordlessly handed them to Yang, who scanned them, then she started laughing too. The orders were detaching Hauptmann Weiss Schnee from her present assignment as liasion to Schnee GmbH, to the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force, to train the latter in the use of DUST in combat. They were signed by James Ironwood, General, Supreme Allied Commander Europe. Weiss nearly fell, and settled on sitting down, on the dirty hangar floor. There would be no court-martial. She wasn't even AWOL. Ironwood had outmaneuvered her father. Yang grabbed Weiss and hugged her, and hauled her to her feet.

Montero was grinning. "I love giving good news." He motioned towards the terminal. "There is a Visiting Officers' Quarters here. It's not much, I'm afraid, but it's clean, there are showers, and it has comfortable beds. I'll arrange to have food sent up."

"Hot damn, Mexican food," Yang said happily, her stomach abruptly reminding her that she'd turned down Raven's offer of food. "And Mexican beer, too." She sobered a bit. "Well, maybe just a bottle or two. We have to fly tomorrow, after all. How's Weiss getting to Japan, Colonel?"

"Ah. We will put her on the courier C-130, which will fly her to La Paz. From there, a USAF C-141 will pick her up and fly her to Yokota." He nodded to Weiss. "Don't worry, Hauptmann. Tijuana is rough, but La Paz is far more civilized. You might even get to hit the beach while you're there."

"Actually, Colonel…" Masters looked sheepish, and pulled out another piece of folded paper. "This just came, when Captain Xiao Long radioed that she was bringing Hauptmann Schnee in. It's from…well, it's from Greenbrier."

"Greenbrier?" Montero was mystified, and opened the orders. He read them quickly, and handed them back to Masters. " _Que diablos es esta mierda?"_ he shouted. _"Esta loca?"_ Weiss winced. Masters turned a little red. Yang, who didn't speak Spanish outside of the word "taco," looked at all three of them. "Uh, what's going on?"

Masters smiled, embarrassed. "It seems that Director Arashikaze has asked…well, demanded…that Colonel Montero provide Hauptmann Weiss with one of his F-20s. He is…not pleased."

"That's putting it mildly!" Montero yelled. "We've barely broken them in yet, and I'm supposed to just _give_ her one?"

"It's a loan," Masters tried to soothe him.

"Yes, but for how long? _Madre de Dios!"_ Masters cleared her throat, and Montero abruptly remembered who she was. "I apologize, Sister. But still!"

"Sir," Weiss said, "it's only so I can defend myself from GRIMM. I'm sure the JASDF will assign me a new aircraft as soon as I reach Japan, and then Director…well, whoever she is, will provide a pilot to fly it back."

Montero rubbed his forehead. "Yes, I know, Hauptmann. And I know your combat record." He turned on Masters. "But FAM high command may feel differently! Does she know that?"

"I'm sure something will be worked out," Masters said with a smile.

"Very well." He gave a shrug, then a tired laugh. "Well, what can you do, eh? Let me go and get that food and beer arranged, Captain Xiao Long." He walked out the door to the terminal.

"And to go vent his spleen some more, out of my earshot. Poor man; he does so like his Tigersharks." Master shook her head. "Well, as the Colonel said, it has been a long day for all of you, so let's get you settled in for the night. It will be a longer day tomorrow, I think."

As they began walking, Yang's curiosity finally got the better of her. "Uh…miss? Sister? You're a nun, right?"

"Oh yes, Captain. I am attached to the Vatican's liasion office to the United States government."

"Then what is a nun doing here, doing this?"

Masters laughed. "Let's just say Arashikaze and I are old friends, and occasionally she uses, shall we say, unorthodox means of communication. After all, we don't know who we can trust, can we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are fans of Netflix's Warrior Nun series, Shannon Masters did appear in that, briefly. However, I was (and still am) a big fan of the original Warrior Nun Areala comic series, and so Sister Shannon has shown up in my Evangelion fanfics (along with Rissa Arashikaze). This will probably be the only spot where she shows up in this AU, as a cameo; I can't have Arashikaze running around everywhere, and maybe this universe's Vatican is active in fighting the GRIMM...
> 
> The real Mexican Air Force does fly F-5s. The F-20 never went into production, and today only one survives in a museum. But this is another story.


	32. Throw a Nickel on the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qrow and Ruby review a list of missing and dead pilots, and realize that Lionheart has been sending them into a trap. 
> 
> But that's not even the biggest surprise of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, but kind of a "midway point" for this story arc, getting most of Ruby Flight back together again. A warning: this one was tough to write, and not just because I was finishing up "31 Days of RWBY Halloween" at the same time I was working on this chapter. There's some feels in this one.

_Naval Air Station Atsugi_

_Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan_

_18 June 2001_

Ruby Rose hummed happily to herself as she walked down the stairs of the Visiting Officers' Quarters. She heard something fly over on final approach, and stopped. _Huh. Sounds like a F-15, but the engines sound weird. Oh well._ There was a F-15 wing at Kadena, far to the south on Okinawa. _Meh. F-15s are boring. F-18s too. I wish something cool would come in._

She was walking out the front door when something else came over on final. Ruby didn't have her hat on yet, and shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. _Huh, a F-5…no,_ she thought with growing excitement, _not with that built up tail! That's a F-20! Weird camo, though…Southeast Asia, looks like…_ The F-20 flew over, its shadow flitting over her. _Mexican Air Force markings. Wow! They're a long way from home. I need to go check that out!_

Before Ruby could dash off, she saw Pyrrha Nikos walking towards her. Both were dressed in USAF light blue, a working uniform as opposed to the dress blues. Ruby slapped her hat on her head. "Bip!" she exclaimed. Then she snapped off a dazzling cadet-style salute to Pyrrha. "Bam! _Good_ afternoon, Pyrrha!"

Pyrrha stared at Ruby like the younger woman had taken leave of her senses, and returned the salute. "Are you all right?" she asked with a small smile.

"Yep! Just in a really good mood." Ruby admitted to herself that she _did_ feel pretty good. The last two days had been spent in training Oscar, and he was getting better. Plus there was that F-20 to go check out.

"Before you go charging off to the flightline," Pyrrha admonished, "you'd better go see your uncle. He wanted to talk to you."

"Aww." Ruby deflated a little. Qrow Branwen had been very busy the past two days, enough that they had barely seen him. "Where are you off to?"

"I think I'll take a nap before dinner. We are still getting together tonight at the officer's club, yes?"

"That's the plan. Seeya." She watched Pyrrha walk into the VOQ, then half-skipped off, not willing to let Pyrrha's melancholy get to her. She slowed down to a more sedate and military pace, returning the salutes of sailors she passed. She always felt awkward doing so; most of them were older than her, and her childlike features tended to make people stare, like she was someone's little girl playing dress up. Of course, then they'd see her silver wings and two rows of ribbons on her chest. She had an oak leaf cluster to her Distinguished Flying Cross now, and another Air Medal, and a Purple Heart. One of the doctors back at Savannah had told her she was up for the Air Force Cross—second only to the Medal of Honor—for ramming Cinder Fall at Beacon, but Ruby doubted she'd get it. The USAF frowned on people destroying their own aircraft.

* * *

She walked into the pleasantly air-conditioned building Qrow was working in, taking off her hat. Japan was as warm and humid as North Carolina; at least she was used to it. Ruby walked down the hall, missed Qrow's office, turned around, and found it. She knocked politely, then walked in, coming to attention in front of his desk. "Captain Ruby Rose reporting as ordered, _sir!"_ She grinned at him.

"Uh-huh." Qrow didn't get up from his chair, and waved her to the one sitting across his desk. She sat primly while he marked on a piece of paper with a pen. Finally, he pushed the paper across to her. "Tell me what you think of this."

Ruby scanned the paper. It was a list.

Name Mission Type Status

_Lucero, Flann (Captain, USAF) Combat Air Patrol Transferred CENTCOM_

_Durham, Azura (Captain, USMC) Search and Destroy MIA_

_Cowan, Dove (Captain, USAF) Search and Destroy KIA_

_Choi, Lali (Captan, CUAF) Reconaissance MIA_

_Lin, Fuschia (Major, CUAF) Search and Rescue KIA_

_Silver, Stark (Lieutenant, USN) Search and Destroy MIA_

_Hawkins, Jay (Captain, USAF) Search and Destroy MIA_

_Hawthorne, James (Lt. Colonel, USAF) Reconaissance KIA_

_Andrews, Rory (Captain, USAF) Search and Destroy Transferred USAFE_

_Castillo, Aurora (Captain, AMI) Combat Air Patrol MIA_

_Hughes, Daisy (Lieutenant, USN) Search and Rescue Transferred CENTCOM_

_Levine, Mae (Lieutenant, USN) Search and Destroy KIA_

_Forrest, Wyatt (Major, USMC) Search and Destroy Transferred CONUS_

_Shields, Heather (Lieutenant (jg), USN) Search and Destroy MIA_

_Riviera, Star (Major, ADA) Reconaissance KIA_

_Krantz, Cyan (Captain, USMC) Reconaissance Transferred CONUS_

_Hyacinth, Zach (Leutnant, Luftwaffe) Search and Destroy KIA_

_Nash, Inigo (Major, USAF) Combat Air Patrol KIA_

_Teale, Caroline (Captain, USAF) Search and Destroy MIA_

_Hayakawa, Midori (Lieutenant, JASDF) Reconaissance MIA_

_Thurman, Onyx (Captain, USAF) Search and Rescue MIA_

_Varga, Viola (Captain, AMI) Combat Air Patrol MIA_

_Carrillo, Nova (Captain, AMI) Reconaissance MIA_

_Wan, Shiro (Captain, JASDF) Search and Destroy KIA_

_Hunt, Terra (Captain, USAF) Search and Destroy KIA_

_Erdos, Mauve (Lieutenant, TAF) Reconaissance KIA_

_Bashir, Maza (Flying Officer, RSAF) Search and Destroy MIA_

_Rhodes, Cascade (Flight Lt., RAF) Search and Destroy MIA_

_Ebi, Clover (Squadron Leader, RAF) Search and Destroy Transferred RAFG_

_Larsen, Maple (Lieutenant, USN) Search and Destroy MIA_

_Umbra, M'Ress (Flying Officer, RAAF) Search and Rescue KIA_

_Griffin, Carmina (Major, USAF) Search and Rescue MIA_

Ruby looked over the list again. There were 32 names. Of them, 15 were missing in action, 11 were killed in action, and six had been transferred to other commands—CENTCOM in the Middle East, CONUS back in the United States, USAFE in Europe, and USAFE's Royal Air Force equivalent, RAFG in Germany. "Who are they?" she asked, handing the list back.

"Huntsmen and Huntresses assigned to Pacific Air Command," Qrow explained. "All detached from their squadrons and given independent missions, per their status as Huntsmen and Huntresses. 26 out of 32 dead—MIA usually means that…as we know only too damn well." Ruby knew he referred to Summer Rose.

"That's pretty bad," Ruby observed. "I knew the Huntsmen and Huntresses get hit pretty hard—only too damn well—but not _that_ bad."

Qrow's mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. "Almost makes you want to consider a career change, huh?" He ran his fingers over the list. "Casualty rates are always pretty high, Ruby, but this is insane. Normally, you'd see about one-fourth of the names on the list as MIA or KIA." He leaned back in his chair, the list in one hand. "And when you break out the names according to when they were listed as MIA or KIA, it looks like that was about right. Teale, Bashir, and Larsen were either killed or went MIA over six weeks ago; Krantz, Larsen, and Andrews were transferred around that time, too—standard operating procedure; they got orders." He tossed the paper on the desk. "The rest have gotten killed, gone missing, or been transferred in the past three weeks. That's way too high."

"How many Huntsmen or Huntresses are left in PACAF?" Ruby asked.

Qrow's smile didn't change, but there wasn't any cheer in it. "One. You're looking at him." He shrugged. "I mean, technically, Reaper Flight is too—you guys _did_ more or less graduate from Vytal Flag, which would make you eligible. But the paperwork needs to be processed. Of course, our little baby ensign wouldn't qualify."

"Just _one?_ " Ruby exclaimed. "Holy shit, Uncle Qrow! That means—

"—there technically aren't any Huntsmen or Huntresses available in the Pacific." Qrow shook his head. "That's not a coincidence, Ruby. Someone's purposely clearing these people out. Those casualty rates are way too high for a three-week period, and that means someone was selling those poor bastards out. Every one of them walked into a trap; Salem knew they were coming."

Ruby chewed her lower lip. "God. We've got a mole in PACAF." She reached out and looked at the list a third time. "Doesn't make any sense. I wonder who it could be?"

Qrow sighed. "I think I know who it is, Ruby. And it scares the shit out of me."

"Who?"

"This doesn't go beyond this room." Qrow dropped his voice and leaned across the desk, his voice barely above a whisper. "Leonardo Lionheart. He had access to the mission list since he got his orders to here…three weeks ago."

Ruby went pale. "Uncle Qrow…that's…that's…no way!" She threw the list back, as if it was poisoned. "He doesn't have any love for Salem! He can't! I mean, Ruth got killed by Cinder and her bunch!"

"Ruby, supposedly 'Cinder and her bunch' were _vetted_ by Lionheart." He reached into his desk and pulled out his flask. "God, Ruby. I don't want to think that of Leo. He's a good dude. And he was fucking _pissed_ when we talked to him in Misawa. You can't fake that." Qrow tapped the list. "And hell, this list came from his office. He sent this to me when I requested it. You'd think that if he was responsible for all these people getting killed, he'd try to fake the list up somehow."

"Or maybe he didn't think you'd notice," Ruby said. Qrow gave her a sardonic look and took a drink. Then her phone rang. Ruby pulled it from her pocket. "What's up?"

"This is Nora!" Ruby wondered why Nora was yelling, or for that matter, why she'd identified herself. After all, her phone said who was calling. "You and Qrow need to get your butts over to the club, right now!"

"What's going on?" Ruby asked.

"Just do it!" Nora laughed and hung up.

Ruby stared at her phone for a second, and put it away. "That's weird. Nora wants us to come over to the O'Club ASAP. She wouldn't say why."

Qrow put the list in his pocket. "Well, I'm done here anyway, and it's happy hour somewhere. Let's head on over." He levered himself out of his chair, and Ruby followed him out of the musty office. He stuffed the flask back in another pocket, adjusted his tie, and both put their hats on as they left the building.

* * *

It was a short walk to the officers' club. "Ladies first," Qrow said, letting Ruby take the lead. She stuck her tongue out at him, and opened the door. She took three steps in before she stopped. Qrow, lost in thought, walked into her as he took off his cap. "What the hell—" Then he looked up.

Standing in their flight suits, flanked by a grinning Nora, Ren and Pyrrha, was Yang Xiao Long and Weiss Schnee.

Yang winked. "Hey," she announced loudly, "someone's wearing their cover in the club. I believe that buys a round for the house."

"Yang?" Ruby said in a tiny voice. "Weiss?" She shook her head, unable to believe her sister and her best friend were standing in front of her. "I…I don't…" Yang, with big sister instincts, knew what to do. She walked forward. Ruby's eyes filled with tears. "I'm…I'm so sorry. I should've…I should've talked to you more…I just…I didn't know…" She broke down, tears running down her face.

Yang hugged her. Even through the artificial hand, Ruby felt her sister's warmth. "I love you, Ruby."

"Oh God." Ruby buried her face in Yang's shoulder, her hat falling to the floor. "I love you too, Yang." She looked over her sister's shoulder. "Oh…hey, Weiss."

Weiss wiped her eyes. "Hello there, Ruby."

Yang turned and put out a hand. "Bring it in here, Weissy." Weiss ran forward and embraced both of them.

Nora was trying not to cry. Ren shook his head, smiling. Pyrrha nodded. "Ruby Flight, together again. Just one to go."

* * *

"You two should've seen it!" Nora laughed. They sat at one of the tables at the club, bowls of steaming ramen in front of them—and not the cheap ramen they had eaten at the barracks at Beacon, but the true Japanese stuff, piled high with noodles, beef and vegetables. "This girl _charges_ a Nuckelavee in a damaged fighter!"

Pyrrha waved her chopsticks. "It wasn't all that impressive. Ruby did more to it."

"Me?" Ruby laughed. She pointed at Ren. "He was the one who was out of control!"

Ren smiled modestly. "I…may have lost my temper momentarily."

"No way!" Ruby insisted. "'Out of control' as in awesome!"

"I see." Ren bowed to her. "Thank you." The table exploded in laughter at Ren's mock seriousness.

Nora helped herself to more ramen, and slurped it loudly. No one was offended, not even Weiss, who knew enough about Japanese etiquette that slurping one's ramen was a compliment to the cook. "So, Weiss…did you do anything exciting when you were home?" She tossed back half a beer, her third for the night.

Weiss thought about telling her friends that she now had four more kills, but she didn't really want to remember the An-12 flight at the moment, not after how it ended. She was still trying to come to terms that she was free, not just from Raven Branwen, but from her father. "Well, let's see. I sang for my father's Beacon benefit concert, fended off some horny jerk, and then cussed out the entire reception." She sipped her beer. "I may have even used the word 'fuck' on that occasion."

"Goodness gracious!" Yang exclaimed, in a fake show of shock. "Such fucking language!"

Ruby put up a hand in a high-five, and Weiss, caught up in the moment, slapped it. "My girl Weiss speaks truth to power!" The former heiress wondered if Ruby even knew what that meant, but then decided it didn't really matter. She laughed, with the sheer joy of being alive.

Ruby then caught herself staring at Yang's arm. She had seen it before, of course, but when she'd left, Yang had barely been moving it. Now, while it was still a little stiff, Yang was moving it almost naturally. Yang smiled at her sister, to let her know she wasn't offended, and let it thump on the middle of the table. "Check it out. Not a replacement for the real thing, but it's come in _handy._ "

"Ugghh," groaned at least three of them at the pun.

"It's really quite amazing, Yang," Pyrrha commented.

Ruby reached out and ran her fingers over the plastic and steel. To her surprise, it was warm—not as warm as actual skin, but still warm. Yang didn't draw back, as she would have only a few weeks before. "And it's just as strong as your old arm?"

"Seems to be."

Nora finished her beer, belched, and slammed her elbow on the table, hand up. "Wanna find out?"

"Nora, now's not the time," Ren admonished, but then Yang, grinning savagely, put her fingers against Nora's. "All right," Ren said, reached into his wallet, and pulled out a wad of yen. He tossed it on the table. "5000 on Nora."

"I'll take some of that!" Ruby tossed 7000 on the table. Quickly, Pyrrha added a few thousand yen of her own; Weiss, to her consternation, had no money at all. Qrow, who had been at the bar, watching the two flights with a wistful smile, suddenly got up, walked over, and threw 10,000 yen in for Yang.

"Go!" Pyrrha declared, and the two women pushed against each other. Yang barely resisted Nora's sudden snap, designed to end the contest before it started; she'd forgotten how strong being an A-10 pilot made her. She held her ground and began shoving. Slowly, Nora's hand began to slip back upwards, passing its apex, and starting to go in the opposite direction. Yang's arm began to throb with pain, but she refused to quit. Neither did Nora, though sweat was beginning to stream down her forehead.

"Definitely…feels like…the original," Nora grunted out.

"Yep," Yang returned, gritting her teeth. "But it…it does have…some new…features."

"Yeah?" Nora managed to push Yang back up a bit. "Like…what?"

"Vibration function." Yang looked across and licked her lips suggestively. Nora's eyes widened, and Yang suddenly threw everything into one last push. It worked: distracted, Nora's elbow slipped, and Yang slammed her hand into the table. Qrow and Ruby cheered, and the latter elbowed Weiss. "You're not cheering loud enough!"

Nora pulled back an aching hand and massaged it, as Ren reluctantly pushed across his money to Yang. "Really?"

"Nah, I'm just kidding," Yang laughed. "No vibration function. I wish, though. Wouldn't need a guy, then."

"Oh, here we go," Weiss sighed. "Now we're getting to _that_ phase of the night."

Yang divvied up the winnings, and gave some to a surprised Weiss. "Heck yeah! Anybody get laid? I didn't. I know _Ruby_ didn't." Her little sister stuck out her tongue. "I know Nora and Ren did!" Ren blushed, and Nora giggled. Yang looked at Pyrrha, remembered, and skipped her to look at the former heiress. "How about the Ice Queen? Someone melt your cold heart?"

Weiss rolled her eyes. "I _so_ did not miss you people."

Qrow put his winnings back into his pocket. "Ice Queen?"

"Weiss' nickname. Too long for a callsign, though," Yang explained.

"We were going to call her 'Scar,' I thought," Pyrrha said.

"And Yang was going to be 'Suds'!" Ruby laughed. Yang snorted and almost spit out her beer, remembering the practice scramble at Beacon where she'd been forced to put on her flight suit with no underwear beneath and shampoo in her hair, since she'd been caught in the shower.

"I can live with Scar," Weiss said, finishing her own beer. "Kind of badass, actually."

"Hey, who are you and what did you do with the real Weiss?" Nora was starting to get a bit tipsy.

"You make it sound like I used to be terrible!" Weiss protested.

"You were!" Ruby laughed. "You were so uptight! You called me an idiot, and gave me a ration of shit on our first hop—"

"Oh, the one where you flew in front of me and nearly became my first kill?" Weiss pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but I was just being…" Ruby sighed. "Okay, yeah, that was dumb on my part." Then she laughed again. "Man, hard to believe that was just a few months ago. Feels like forever. That Nevermore, and that Death Stalker…"

It was suddenly silent at the table, as everyone remembered that first mission at Vytal Flag. It had nearly been their last. It also made them remember who wasn't at the table with them. "It's been a long time," Ren said, finally. "We've all grown in our own ways. We all did some dumb things at Beacon. Even me. But remembering that, wanting to go back and tell who we were a few months ago how foolish we were…that just proves that we've changed. We're smarter, we're kinder, we're stronger, and we're not done moving forward yet. Not by a damned sight."

It was quiet again, and Ruby stared at Ren. "Wow. How many Kirins have you _had,_ Ren?"

"Not enough," Ren said, signaling for another beer, and the table laughed again. They were alone in the club, except for the bartender; he reached for another bottle, but Qrow walked over and got it for him. Weiss and Nora raised their hands for another, and Qrow nodded at Pyrrha. "You good?"

"Oh…oh yes." Pyrrha finished her beer; it had been her only one. "Just a club soda, please." At everyone else's look—it seemed like a good night to get a little tight—she laughed nervously. "I'm really not a good drunk. I get very…well, I get rather weepy. And no one likes a weepy drunk."

Nora saw the pain in Pyrrha's face. She alone knew about the night Jaune had found Pyrrha very drunk, trying to use ouzo to blot out the memories of a dead squadron. The next morning, Nora had found her friend tucked in, her reeking flight suit in the hamper and empty bottles in the trash; Pyrrha had later confessed that she dimly remembered Jaune doing all of that. To change the subject, Nora said loudly, "You know, I can't think of any mistakes _I_ made at Beacon."

"Your A-10 got shot all to shit a lot!" Yang exclaimed.

Nora waved it off as Qrow handed her a beer. "Meh! It's what A-10 pilots do."

"And what about the dance?" Yang was not letting her off the hook that easy. "When you started up the Macarena?"

Nora snickered. "That was fun. Ren's favorite dance."

"It is not," Ren told her.

"Liar." Nora took a long drink. "Besides, I had to do something to save Pyrrha from—" She stopped, catching herself. "From…um…"

Once more, silence reigned at the table, and once more, they were reminded of who was not there. Everyone looked at one another, and at nothing, all of them afraid to break the laughter, and the happiness. Blake was the missing link in Ruby Flight, but she was still alive, if far away; there was hope. Jaune Arc, however, would never fly with Juniper Flight again.

The silence was broken by the door to the club opening and closing. Oscar Pine, dressed in his khakis, walked in, in an epic case of bad timing. He realized it. "Uh…sorry. I would've been here sooner, but I had to do some processing paperwork, and…" It didn't take a psychic to know he was the odd man out here. He hadn't been at Beacon. "I'll…I'll just head on over to Burger King or something…"

Ruby got up and motioned him over. "No…it's okay, Oscar. We were just…remembering someone."

Weiss surprised them all by slapping a hand on the table. "Stop it," she snapped. "We can say his name! _Jaune Arc!_ " she shouted.

"But Pyrrha…" Nora's voice was almost a painful moan.

"No," Pyrrha said firmly. "No. Weiss is right." She stood and faced them. "I appreciate that you're trying to spare my feelings. But my feelings are not worth pretending that a good man never existed. Jaune was my friend. He was my friend because he was a good man, and because he accepted me as a human being, not as some 'Invincible Girl' made up for propaganda and public relations." She paused, and her voice softened a little. " _All_ of you did, and I thank you for that." She folded her hands in front of her, not meeting their eyes. "Jaune and I…we became lovers. I think that, had he lived, had Cinder Fall not taken him from me—from _us_ —we would've been more. But it was not to be."

Nora was crying now, remembering her former wingman. Ren put an arm around her. "Pyrrha—"

"Just a moment, Ren," Pyrrha told him gently. "I'm not quite done." She looked up. "All of you have been wondering if I have a death wish. After my canopy got blown off my F-22, I went right back into the fight. I flew Major Branwen's F-117 directly at the Nuckelavee. You believe it is because I don't care if I live or die. You know that I listen to Jaune's last message to me every night when I work out. But I did all that to defend my friends, the only family I have left, the only _country_ I have left, and I listen to Jaune so I don't forget the sound of his voice. And I work out so hard to keep from losing my mind. I don't have a death wish…I just have a lot to do. And I cannot, I _will not_ die until that task is finished. And that task is seeing Cinder Fall dead, and her patron destroyed."

No one said anything as Pyrrha sat. Oscar almost tiptoed over to the bar to get a drink, afraid to make too much noise. No one noticed, and then Yang got to her feet. "That was a damn fine speech, Pyr," she spoke. "And I'm glad we're talking about Jauney again, because I miss that French fucker." Some smiles at that, even a little giggle from Nora. "You know…we haven't really had a chance to mourn him, have we? Or for that matter, any of the others, like Dove or Ciel or Penny. We had the ceremony for Ruth, but never did for the people that bought it at Beacon."

"Bit late for a missing man," Qrow commented. He'd buried so many friends that the names and faces had started to blur. Only late, on some nights, did they come back to him, clear as if they were in the same room. For those memories, there was liquor.

"But not too late to burn a piano," Yang countered. She motioned with her beer. There was a battered, upright piano in the corner. It had seen better days, and it was covered with stickers from the various Navy squadrons that had transited Atsugi.

The bartender, who had been doing his best to be discreet—he'd been around fighter pilots for a long time—now spoke up. "Oh, please no."

Qrow turned and grinned. "You want a new piano don't you?" He reached into his wallet and fished around for a credit card. "Here. Charge it to me."

"Uncle Qrow, you can't afford that, not even on your salary!" Ruby protested.

"I'll get reimbursed. I imagine a certain short little woman will be happy to pay for an old beat to shit piano."

"But the Navy—" the bartender began.

"Won't give a shit," Qrow finished. It was true: the Navy bureaucracy might have an issue, but they'd never know. Navy aviators would not only not care, they would probably help the pilots in the room.

"At least go outside," the bartender begged.

"Not a problem." All of them got up from the table, except for Oscar, who was still at the bar and still mystified, feeling very out of place.

* * *

The six pilots of Ruby and Juniper Flights all pushed and pulled, cursed and prodded the piano out the front door, dragging it into the parking lot. The sun was down now, and it was a muggy night. "Now we just need to set it on fire," Nora said.

"I've got a lighter," Qrow offered. He had hung back, feeling that too many cooks spoiled the broth. That and he didn't want to throw his back out.

"Yes, but that wood's not going to burn with just a little cigarette lighter," Weiss pointed out.

The door to the club opened again, and Oscar came out. In both hands were two twelve-packs of beer. "Will this work?"

They all grinned at him. "Yeah, rook," Yang said. "That'll do just fine." He handed over the beer to them and started to leave, but a steel hand pulled him back into the circle. "Nah, stick around. Like it or not, you're part of the team now."

"We'll take him into our flight." No one mentioned why Ren had suddenly made the offer, though everyone was thinking it: Juniper was permanently down a man. Ruby Flight was only temporarily down one. Yang had some thoughts on that, but let it slide; it wasn't the time or place.

"Hmm," Nora mused. "Pyrrha, Oscar, Ren, Nora. What would Captain Ozpin say about that?" She was grinning again.

Ruby snorted. " _Porn_ Flight?" Everyone began laughing at that. They needed it.

"I think Nikos, Oscar, Ren and Nora might work better. Norn Flight—like the fates of Norse mythology," Ren offered.

"That sounds lovely," Pyrrha agreed.

"Now that _that's_ been taken care of," Yang said, "let's light this candle."

All of them grabbed a beer or two from one case, emptying it over the piano. Then Qrow lit a corner. It took a few tries to get the alcohol to light, but eventually it did. The flames slowly crept up the side of the piano, then it found better fuel in the dry wood, and the piano well and truly began to burn.

Ruby handed out beers to everyone from the untouched case. "To our friends," she said. "I don't know if I remember everyone…"

"I do." Weiss remembered the speech she'd given at the reception. "Ruth Lionheart, Royal Air Force. Dove Bronzewing, United States Air Force. Ciel Soleil, United States Air Force. Bolin Hori, Turkish Air Force. Gwen Darcy, Royal Air Force. Penny Polendina, United States Air Force." She paused. "Jaune Arc, Armee de l'Air." She raised her beer. "Ladies and gentlemen, charge your glasses high."

Each one raised their beer bottle; each one took a drink. Each one remembered the names and the faces of friends: Ruth's laughter, Dove's boisterousness, Ciel's Cajun accent, Bolin's constant attention to his hair, Gwen's insistence on wearing skirts just an inch too short for regulation to show off her legs, which she was very proud of. Ruby remembered Penny's childlike wonder at flying, so like her own. Pyrrha remembered Jaune's fingers on her naked skin. They drank their beer, then threw the bottles at the piano. Some just thunked against it; others shattered and spilled their alcohol, feeding the flames, which were now well and truly consuming the instrument.

"Oh, hallelujah, oh hallelujah," Yang began.

"Throw a nickel on the grass, save a fighter pilot's ass!" Ruby finished.

Then they all began singing. The song was old, dating to at least the Korean War, and possibly sooner. No one knew where it started, or why it was tradition to throw nickels on the grass. " _Oh hallelujah, oh hallelujah, throw a nickel on the grass and you'll be saved."_

Oscar saw them link arms with each other and begin to sway to the music; he was caught up in it, and along with the growing heat from the burning piano, felt the warmth of acceptance. He had yet to see combat, and he had a lot to learn, but these men and women were making him part of their team, and their family. He began to sing with the others: _"I was cruising down the barrier, doing six and twenty per, when a call came from the major—"_

" _Oh won't you save me, sir!"_ Pyrrha yelled with a laugh. It was the first time in a long time they had heard her trilling laugh, and it sounded good.

" _Got three flak holes in my wingtips and my tanks ain't got no gas,"_ they sang, _"Mayday, mayday, mayday, I got six Grimm on my ass!"_

They would sing long after the piano was nothing more than glowing embers. All but Ren, Oscar and Ruby got very drunk; by the end, Nora was barely conscious, Yang was slurring every other word, and Weiss had forgotten how to speak English, instead singing in German. Qrow didn't seem to be all that drunk, but he had a very high tolerance. Pyrrha was pleasantly tight. Drunk, but not crying; instead, she seemed rather happy, as if she'd remembered how to be happy again. They sang every bad fighter pilot song they knew, from ones dating from World War I to more recent vintage, from singing about the dying fighter pilot next to the French waterfall to how everyone wanted a gun just like the A-10. The sober ones and Qrow put the drunk ones to bed. Yang and Nora had finally passed out before they got back to the VOQ; Weiss didn't even bother getting undressed and fell asleep in the stinking flight suit she'd worn from Mexico.

Pyrrha was still semi-conscious, enough to get undressed down to her underwear before falling into her bed. She spoke into the darkness. "Good night, Jaune."

She smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Burning a piano in remembrance is a tradition that may date back to World War I, though it's not always done as something of a funeral rite; it's also done for anniversaries or just because pilots feel like setting something on fire. "Throw a Nickel On the Grass" is indeed a fighter pilot song; I changed two of the words for this world. (The most traditional version of the song is from Korea, and mentions the Yalu and MiGs.) The song about the dying fighter pilot has about twenty versions, and is constantly updated (I can't remember the actual title), while the song about the A-10 is "I Wish I Had a Gun Just Like the A-10" by Dos Gringos, a pair of F-15 pilots. You can find these songs on YouTube, more than likely.


	33. Your Wildest Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunited Ruby Flight enjoys some time together, but Yang's still upset about Blake. 
> 
> Back in California, Cinder makes an offer to Raven that she can't refuse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update, but I felt bad about running late with the last chapter, and I know I'm not going to be able to concentrate well with the election and all, so I got this done ahead of time.
> 
> This chapter is something of mood whiplash. It starts off with a very dark encounter between Raven and Cinder (which I enjoyed writing; the post-apocalyptic setting was fun to play around with, and that part comes off as unbelievably creepy to me), then goes to Ruby Flight, which is both happy and sad.

_Orange County Airport_

_Ruins of Irvine, California Dead Zone, United States of America_

_19 June 2001_

Raven Branwen ran the sharpening stone down the length of her sword. It helped concentrate the mind. If pressed, Raven herself could not explain why she habitually carried a sword. It had no place in a modern society; she suspected that, if she still lived in a civilized area, people would call her a rabid anime fan. She chuckled to herself at that. Still, it was a symbol of authority, and no one could deny she was good with it.

She hadn't slept well the night before. Almost as soon as Vernal had returned from Tijuana, the Branwen Tribe had packed up what they could at Palmdale and made their way down to what was left of Orange County Airport, sandwiched between the ruins of Santa Ana and Irvine, two of the southern suburbs of southern Los Angeles. It was one of several dozen places the Branwens had quietly and stealthfully restored across California, boltholes that the Tribe could hide out at if one area was compromised. Raven was certain that Yang and Weiss would tell their superiors of the base at Palmdale, and if it was true that she'd accidentally murdered the nephew of the Deputy Director of the CIA, it was dangerous to stay there. The US government only suspected that Raven controlled the Spring Maiden, but even that might not be enough to dissuade them from attacking. In any case, a raid now on Palmdale would hit nothing. Much like their former hideout, Orange County was cleverly disguised to look unusable.

She ran the stone down the blade for the eighth time. The Tribe was safe, at least for now, but thinking about Yang brought up some unpleasant memories. Taiyang had been right, what he had told their daughter: Raven _had_ made several surreptitious trips back to the Remnant, watching her daughter grow up from a distance. She'd been proud of Yang at each step, and each time she'd been tempted to leave the shadows and tell Yang who she really was. Each time, she'd hesitated, and then told herself she had to stay hidden; after all, the US government had a price on her head.

Now she wondered if she'd just been trying to convince herself. Yang had grown up to be an impressive young woman; even having an arm blown off had barely slowed her down. In fact, Raven reflected, now she was even more dangerous, since it seemed to have cured Yang of her recklessness. She had found herself wanting beyond anything else in her life that Yang would stay, join the Tribe, and be _her_ daughter, not Tai's and Summer's.

_You're going to regret this just once, Raven, and that's going to be for the rest of your life._ Raven set aside the sharpening stone and checked the blade. It had been the last words ever spoken between her and Summer Rose. Not even Taiyang knew that she had told Summer she was leaving. Even now, she wasn't sure if she had wanted Summer to talk her out of it. Her friend hadn't, however, just stared at Raven with those depthless silver eyes, filled with a mixture of pity and hatred. She wondered if Summer had ever forgiven her. She also wondered if Summer had not tried to talk her out of leaving because Summer had wanted Taiyang for herself. If so, Raven did not begrudge her: Summer Rose had been a far better mother and wife than Raven Branwen ever could have been.

The tent flap was thrown aside. "Raven," Vernal said breathlessly, "we have a problem."

"Do I have to wait for it?" Raven answered testily.

Vernal ignored her chieftess' tone of voice. "Salem. Salem's found us."

"How so?" Raven got to her feet and sheathed the sword.

"Four of her bunch are inbound, coming in from Vegas. They're being escorted in through the passes—Jimmy says there's only three aircraft—a modded Mirage III, an A-4, and something we've never seen before. It looks like a F-18, but it's a lot bigger. And uglier."

Raven smiled. "Salem doesn't hold back for her minions. I'm sure it's Cinder Fall." She nodded. "Very well. Let them land here. The Navy will see them, but we don't have a lot of choice. We'll have to pack up again, but that's nothing new."

"Yes, ma'am. Do you want to meet them here?"

"No." Raven's smile turned predatory. "Let's meet them elsewhere. After they land, drive them north. They're in LA; let's show them some sights."

* * *

_Main Street USA, Disneyland_

_Ruins of Anaheim, California Dead Zone, United States of Canada_

_19 June 2001_

Though it was a typically hot Southern California day, Emerald Sustrai felt a chill go through her. She'd once managed to sneak into Disneyland Europe outside of Paris, and enjoyed herself, one of the few times she'd been able to indulge herself in a childhood she'd never had. The original was laid out the same, but this was not a place of laughter and joy.

It was a land of the dead.

"God, this is creepy," Mercury said, echoing her thoughts; he was just as intimidated as she was.

"It's meant to be," Arthur Watts mused. He seemed unaffected. "Raven Branwen is playing mind games with us. She's trying to rattle us, remind us that we're on her home ground." Cinder Fall said nothing, the untouched side of her face calm and relaxed; her hair hid the ruined part.

"Well…it's working," Emerald told Watts. The street they walked on was cracked and disused, with weeds and grass growing up from between the cracks; in some places the asphalt was barely visible. The once beautiful and ornate buildings on either side had largely collapsed in on themselves, becoming ruins, in places also taken back by nature. Entire blocks of Main Street were burned and scorched, from fires decades in the past and just recently. Then they stopped at the end of the street.

Sleeping Beauty's Castle was a ruin as well, but in slightly better shape. The walls still stood, but the central keep had collapsed. One tower, however, still stood defiantly over the ruins of the park, as if to inform future travelers that there had been magic at this place, once upon a time.

"Sad, isn't it?" They saw Raven Branwen step out from behind one of the walls. "I always wanted to come here, but I have to say it's kind of hit the skids." She walked forward. She was dressed in her black, red-trimmed flight suit, hair held in place by a red bandanna; over the flight suit, she wore body armor, and the sword was sheathed at her side. Vernal walked behind at a respectful pace, one hand casually resting on an ivory-handled Colt M1911. Raven shook her head sadly. "You know, the nuclear explosions weren't even all that near here. There were three detonations, all concentrated from Torrance to Long Beach to Seal Beach. Three one megaton airbursts. Almost half a million died, but the shockwave only lightly damaged the park, and there was little radiation—not like the San Diego groundburst." She ran a gloved hand over what had been a trolley, now dented, rusted, and halfway over on its side. "But the fires…you see, the Russians targeted those areas not just because it was a US naval base, but also because that's where Los Angeles' oilfields were. The fires were what finished Los Angeles, not the nukes." She looked up at the clear sky. "I still remember it…I was very little, but we lived in the Central Valley. You could see the glow from the fires even up there. My parents told me you could read a newspaper by it for over a week."

"That's a fascinating history lesson," Watts said, "but it's not what we came here for. You've been on our…" He paused, then smiled. "Our mistress' list for some time, so you must understand what we _did_ come here for."

Raven stepped a little closer and rested her hands on her hips. "I know all about your mistress, but I don't believe we've met."

Mercury smirked. "We're the guys you should be afraid of."

The chieftess laughed. "I doubt _anyone's_ afraid of you."

Mercury bared his teeth in rage and took a step forward, but Cinder stopped him, slapping her artificial hand against his chest. "Enough."

"I thought so." Raven twirled her finger in the air. "You should know I have snipers all around here. And if you survived them, it's seven miles back to the airport, through ruins filled with scavengers that will split your head open for the buttons in your outfits. Some of them, I understand, may even be cannibals. Oh, and did I mention there's still some pockets of hard radiation, even after all these years?"

"You've made your point." Cinder stepped forward. "I'm Cinder Fall. These are my associates—Arthur Watts, Emerald Sustrai, and Mercury Black."

"I see. Two impressionable young idiots, a disgraced British scientist, and someone with a surname so appropriate she probably picked it herself." Raven's voice dripped with contempt.

Watts cleared his throat. "Technically, I'm also a doctor, but I must say, the rest is spot on."

Cinder didn't rise to the bait, but only just. "Aren't you perceptive, Raven Branwen."

"It's what has kept me alive."

"I'm afraid the only reason you're _still_ alive is because you have something Salem wants," Cinder said. She held up her artificial hand. Around her left wrist was a control pad. She saw Raven's eyes widen a bit, and knew the other woman recognized it. After all, there was an identical one on Vernal's left wrist. What Cinder and Watts alone knew—at least Cinder _hoped_ they were the only ones that knew—was that the one on Cinder's wrist was fake. She did not control the Fall Maiden. No one did…at least, not yet.

"That's not much incentive to keep you four alive," Raven returned.

Cinder put her hands behind her back. "Raven, I won't underestimate you, so please don't underestimate me. You could kill us, yes, and escape. But you know that eventually, Salem would find you and would wipe out your tribe. The GRIMM that destroyed Beacon can be sent against you. And I doubt the United States government would lift a finger to help you." She nodded to Vernal. "And while your Spring Maiden would undoubtedly get many of them, they would not get all of them…and whatever is left of your band would be easy pickings for the Americans." She shook her head. "But that's not what we're here for."

"All right. Now that we've gotten the threats out of the way and compared the size of our metaphorical dicks," Raven said evenly. "Shall we get down to business?"

Watts walked up to her, a shade too close; her hand clicked open her sword from the scabbard, and Vernal's tightened on the pistol. "The Maidens are merely means to an end, Miss Branwen. Salem's true desires lie elsewhere. There is a little something you may be familiar with—the Joint Inter-National Network."

"JINN," Raven replied. "Yes, I've heard of it. I don't know where it is."

"We do," Watts told her. "And you may not be aware that the Maiden bearers—like the lovely Miss Vernal—have the access codes to the facility. The same codes that control the Maidens provide access."

Raven smiled and motioned at Cinder. "Then have your Fall Maiden do it."

"We would, except there must be two codes. It's not as simple as all that, I'm afraid."

"I don't believe you."

Watts grinned underneath his mustache, and sprang his trump card. "You can choose not to, Miss Branwen, but should we access the JINN vault without your help, the knowledge that we gain there would be all ours. But if we should cooperate…" He watched her face. Raven was a good poker player, but she was being offered the world, and it would take a superhuman effort not to react. JINN contained nearly every military secret imaginable; its value was priceless. If the Branwens were to survive, trading on that knowledge could ensure that survival. "It's the best deal either of you are going to get." Watts added that, the stick to the carrot, and walked back to his group.

Raven was quiet for a moment. "You talk as if flying into Japan will be easy."

"Actually," Cinder said, "it will be. Air Vice Marshal Leonardo Lionheart has cleared the way for us. There are no Huntsmen or Huntresses in the Pacific Rim. He has the Japanese, and the Americans, convinced that the real threat will be from a White Fang terrorist attack on a base in Japan—Matsushima, Atsugi, Kasuga. In reality, the White Fang are merely a distraction: as soon as they have made their attack and sown chaos, we will strike."

"Lionheart turned traitor?" Raven asked, visibly shocked.

"Yes. He's bowing to the inevitable. As should you."

Raven glared at her. "I'm not helping Salem, and I'm not helping the Americans, even if Ozpin was still alive. I don't want any part of this."

Cinder laughed. "Oh, that ship sailed long ago, Raven…when you chose to hijack and control the Spring Maiden. But if you help us in Japan, we'll leave you, your precious tribe, and your little secret to live out your lives in this wasteland. All we want is JINN."

Raven thunked the sword completely back in its scabbard. "I need time to think about it."

"I'm afraid time is not a commodity you have," Watts said. "We need to know now. With us, or against us?"

Raven looked at each one of them in turn, then back at Vernal, and her people that were hidden in the ruins. "Agreements like this are built on trust," she told Cinder. "And forgive me for saying, but I don't trust a single damn one of you. You need to give me something besides vague threats and promises."

"We're offering to share JINN—" Watts began, but Raven cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"We don't know what's in that vault. It could be nothing."

"You're in a remarkably poor position to negotiate," Watts pointed out.

"So are you," Raven replied. "But my terms are simple. I want my brother _dead."_

It caught everyone by surprise, even Vernal. Just as shocking was the vehemence in her voice. Cinder was taken aback. "You mean Qrow Branwen?"

"Unless I have any other twin brothers I'm unaware of," Raven said. "Qrow knows I've got the Spring Maiden. And if I help you get JINN, he's going to be a problem, and I've got enough problems as it is. Qrow doesn't trust me, probably hates me, but he's the best Ozpin ever had. If Leo really is loyal to you, then you can use him to spring an ambush. He shows up, we shoot him down, you get JINN, and we all leave happy."

Cinder sniffed a laugh. "Now that's a plan I can get behind."

Watts realized that he was losing control of this conversation; this was not what Salem wanted. "Ladies, ladies…let's pause for a moment. We have _one_ objective: getting JINN. Now Qrow Branwen might be on our list of People To Kill in 2001, but he's not going to go down without a fight, and he's not going to go quietly. Our plan was to let the White Fang draw off the defenses, and we fly to—" He caught himself before he said the location of JINN out loud "—to JINN, with no one the wiser." Watts looked at Cinder and Raven in turn. "A battle with your brother, Miss Branwen, throws all that out the window."

Raven raised an eyebrow. "Qrow's good, but he's not _that_ good. All of us against him? I don't think those are good odds."

Emerald spoke up. "It's not just him, ma'am. He's got other people with him too—the same people who defended Beacon." She glanced at Cinder. "Ruby Rose is with him."

"She certainly is," Cinder said, her voice just above a hiss. Emerald noticed the artificial hand twitch.

Watts covered his eyes. "Oh God. Do _not_ do this, Cinder. Your obsession with that little silver-eyed bitch is going to undo the whole plan."

"How so?" Cinder asked. "The White Fang attack their target. The JASDF and the Americans are diverted to stop that attack. We attack wherever JINN is, and get Leo to divert Qrow, Ruby, and their flights to defend it. Then we wipe them out, take JINN, and kill two birds with one stone." She shrugged. "Obviously we'll need some reinforcements, but I'll be there, along with Emerald and Mercury; we can add Hazel to that mix, and a whole group of GRIMM—or your tribe, Raven."

"No," Raven said. "But I'll be there, as will Vernal."

"Six of us, then, along with a horde of GRIMM. Our last report held that Ruby's—Qrow's—flight consisted of no more than five pilots. Granted, one of them is Pyrrha Nikos, but I've already beaten her, and if it wasn't for that bitch Ruby ramming my F-22, I would have killed her. I'll finish the job this time."

"Seven," Raven corrected. "Yang Xiao Long and Weiss Schnee have probably reached them by now. Assuming they haven't hauled away the Schnee girl in irons, which I personally doubt, that gives them seven pilots." She shrugged. "Still, I would call that an even fight, and if your mistress can provide a few GRIMM, it would be more than even."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Watts said. He decided he might as well join them; he certainly wasn't going to beat them. None of them asked how Raven knew about Yang and Weiss.

"And after we're done, Salem leaves me and my people alone. For good," Raven added.

"You have yourself a deal," Cinder replied. She stepped forward and held out her real hand. Raven stared at the hand for a moment, then grasped it and shook. Both women smiled at each other, and both women knew neither the handshake nor the smile was genuine.

"You know," Cinder said, withdrawing her hand and looking around the ruined park, "this really _is_ a place where dreams come true."

* * *

_Naval Air Station Atsugi_

_Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan_

_19 June 2001_

There was a nice verandah built on the rear of the Visiting Officers' Quarters, with a few patio chairs, two sunbrellas, and a nice view of Mount Fuji—when clouds weren't covering it, like they were now. Ruby didn't mind. She lay back on the patio chair, enjoying the morning sunshine; it was already warm, but not unpleasant, and with an hour before she had to report for duty, she wore shorts and a T-shirt.

She heard the door to patio open and close behind her. Suddenly a lot of blond hair and two lilac eyes blocked out the sun. "Hey. You're up early."

Ruby smiled up at Yang. "Hey, sis."

Yang reached down, made a fart noise, and tweaked her nose. Ruby giggled like she was eight again, and Yang dropped into the chair next to her, putting on her sunglasses. "Ugh. Sun's way too bright this morning."

"How's the hangover?"

Yang shrugged. "You know, it's not too bad, considering. Slept good, didn't wake up with anything two aspirin couldn't take care of. Got the day off, too." She yawned. "Whoof. If I don't fall back asleep out here, anyway." Yang was still in what passed for pajamas—a T-shirt that showed far more cleavage than the USAF would prefer, and shorts that were far shorter than their father would prefer.

"Fortunately, coffee exists." Weiss stepped out onto the patio, balancing a tray in her hands. She'd taken the time to dress in casual uniform—a borrowed Mexican Air Force one, since her luggage was long gone, somewhere in southern California. Atop the tray were three steaming mugs of coffee. "One coffee, black as your heart for you, Yang." She handed the mug to the blonde.

"I love you too, Weissy."

"And one for Ruby, with enough cream and sugar to kill a normal person," Weiss said. She handed Ruby her mug.

"Yay! Nice Weiss strikes again!"

Weiss pulled the mug out of reach. "I will pour this on your crotch, and it will burn."

"Sorry."

"That's better." She allowed Ruby to grab the coffee, then settled in on the other side of her friend with the last cup. "And a cup of the black for me as well."

Yang sipped hers. It was good and strong. She smiled at Weiss, who also put on a pair of sunglasses. "How's _your_ hangover?"

"Let's not talk about my hangover." Weiss took a drink of the coffee. The pounding of her temples had lessened to a dull ache, and her stomach rumbled dangerously at the introduction of liquids. She'd already thrown up a few hours before, after breaking a few short-track speed records getting to the toilet. She and Yang were sharing a room, and the other woman hadn't even stirred. "There's a reason why I don't drink. Several, actually."

"Ahh…" Yang waved it off. "Any fighter pilot that doesn't tie one on now and then isn't worth the title." She took another drink and stared at the distant clouds. "Can't believe we're actually in Japan. I always wanted to come out here."

"All we've gone through and _that's_ what you can't believe?" Ruby grinned.

"Sure. And wait until you see what I'm flying, Rubes." Yang dropped her sunglasses down on her nose and wiggled her eyebrows.

Ruby shrugged. "Another F-15. Meh."

"Au contraire, my flat-chested sister," Yang replied. "I happen to have a F-23A Black Widow II sitting over on the tarmac right now."

Ruby shook her head in disbelief. "Bullshit."

"Yeah? Well, finish your coffee, Ruby Rose, and I'll _show_ you. And Weissy's new F-20 that the Mexicans let her have."

"Let me _borrow,_ " Weiss corrected.

Ruby took a big drink of coffee, causing her heart to start thudding. "Ooh, yeah. I gotta see that." She motioned with the mug. "You look pretty good in that uniform, Weiss."

"It's all they had in my size until I can go to the base exchange." Weiss suddenly groaned. "Oh, dammit. We're on a Navy base."

"We'll get you fixed up," Ruby assured her. "Besides, you gotta check in with the German consulate, right? I'm sure they can get you a uniform out here really fast."

Weiss laughed softly. "You know…I just realized how much I missed your boneheaded optimism, Ruby." Her smile faded. "I honestly wasn't sure if I'd ever see you two again."

Yang was not about to let the happy mood evaporate. She raised her mug in salute to Weiss. "Well, here's to defying expectations. And the law of averages." She reached across Ruby and clinked her mug against Weiss'.

Ruby clinked hers against theirs, and drained the rest of the coffee. She leaned back, content. There was just one thing missing. "I just wish Blake was here." The words were out before she realized it.

And just like that, the happy mood evaporated. Yang's smile didn't fade; it vanished. She gazed into her mug. "Yeah, well…she made her choice."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Weiss demanded. "Yang, she probably got orders! She was in Menagerie, last I heard."

"There's no jarhead bases in Menagerie, Weiss," Yang said. "And you found a way to get here."

Weiss made a scoffing noise. "Yes, by going AWOL and risking court-martial, then getting shot down, and nearly sold to a Tijuana whorehouse by your birth mother. I can't blame Blake for not going to my extremes."

"Oh, come on," Yang protested. "You know damn good and well that Arashikaze chick could've cut orders for Blake to join up with us. If she's at Menagerie, she's probably run off to cry on her mommy's…." Yang didn't finish the sentence, taking a slug of coffee instead. "Fuck it. It's no big deal. We'll be fine."

Ruby was shocked at the bitterness in her sister's voice. "Don't you _want_ her here?"

"Why?" Yang asked.

"Are you still mad at her for leaving?" Ruby shook her head. "God, Yang! She saved your life! You remember the doctors at Savannah told us Blake tied off your arm so you wouldn't bleed to death."

"She still fucking ran!" Yang shouted. "That goddamned piece of shit that gave me this—" she shook her artificial arm "—said that Blake would run, and by God, she did!" Yang almost threw the mug against the ground, then remembered where she was. "No, Ruby, I'm not mad at Blake. I'm fucking _enraged_ at Blake."

"Okay, okay," Weiss said, trying to smooth the waters, "calm down."

Yang stabbed a finger at her. "Don't tell me to fucking calm down, Weiss!"

"Yang, stop it!" Ruby yelled. She faced her sister. "Please!"

Yang saw the concern and love on her sister's face, and took a deep breath. Her real hand shaking, she drank the rest of her coffee. "Whatever. Thanks for the coffee, Weiss." She set the mug down, got up, and quickly walked back into the VOQ.

* * *

Yang stomped up the stairs, flung open the door to the room she shared with Weiss, slammed it with enough force to wake up everyone on the floor—which pretty much consisted of Ren and Nora, since an aching Pyrrha and sober Oscar had gone out jogging—and sat heavily on her bed. The bed didn't give much.

She sat there in silence for several minutes, and then driven by an impulse she couldn't explain, she reached into her wallet on the nightstand. Fighter pilots were supposed to sanitize their wallets before taking off, leaving behind any personal items that could be used by the enemy, but given that the GRIMM didn't take prisoners, Yang had ignored the rule. She pulled out a dog-eared, folded photograph. It showed Ruby Flight at Beacon, in front of the first _Ember Celica._ Ruby sat crosslegged on the ground, throwing up victory signs, while Weiss knelt behind her, with an amused smile on her face. Yang saw herself with a big grin on her face, her left hand giving the finger and the other around Blake, who was clearly fighting back a laugh, Yang's face pressed into her ribbon. It had been taken before they had flown off on the long-range training mission with Professor Oobleck; Yang was fairly certain Jaune had taken the picture. She wondered if it was the last remaining picture of all of them together, unless Ruby had one somewhere. She'd stuffed it into her wallet before they'd made the run to the aircraft at Beacon, and somehow it had survived her shootdown and the trip to the hospital.

Yang ran her hands over the picture. She'd never lost Ruby, of course, though she was very happy to see her little sister again. She hadn't been sure she'd ever see Weiss again, but she'd known Weiss was in Germany against her will. Seeing her again, having her back, was great as well. They'd had some fun flying across the Pacific together, doing a little bit of hassling on the long island-hopping trip from Tijuana to Hawaii, Hawaii to Wake, Wake to the Philippines, and the Philippines to Japan.

That left Blake.

Yang missed the Faunus terribly, made all the worse by the feeling of betrayal. She'd known Blake had saved her life, and that Blake even went back into the fight against the Wyvern. But when Yang had bottomed out, when she had been fighting her demons at Patch, Blake wasn't there. Her best friend was gone. Yang knew why it hurt so much: in their short time at Beacon, Blake had become the first real best friend Yang had ever had. There had been friends in the past, of course, but not like Blake Belladonna; they had just clicked together, like two pieces of a puzzle. It helped that they were both fighter pilots, of course, but it was more than that. Yang had found herself sharing secrets with Blake that she'd never shared with anyone but Ruby, and Blake had opened herself up to Yang as well, her iron reserve no match for Yang's boisterous personality.

And now she was gone. She'd run off, and if she was in Menagerie, it was because she was hiding. _Assuming she hasn't gone running back to that son of a bitch Adam. I wouldn't put it past her._ Yang shook that off; Blake would not go that far. But the feeling was there all the same.

There was a knock on the door. "Ruby, I don't want to talk about it, okay?" Yang called out. "Just leave me alone for a bit." She softened her voice; there was no reason to take things out on her sister. The door opened, but it wasn't Ruby. It was Weiss. Yang quickly stuffed the photograph into a pocket. "Oh, sorry, Weiss. Did you need something?"

The former heiress didn't reply. She shut the door and sat down on her own bed. She stared at Yang, who eventually wilted under it. "I know," Yang sighed. "I know Blake's our wing…whatever. But I'm not going to just get over it, Weiss. I'm sorry, I'm just…" She ran her real fingers over the artificial ones. "You don't know what it's like to be left, Weiss. You've got a big family, you've got your parties and recitals, and family dinners and shit. I didn't have any of that. Raven left me when I was a baby. Summer—my real mom—she died when I was five. Dad was a wreck and, when he pulled himself out of it, he threw himself into that flight school. Ruby could barely talk—she could say 'mama,' 'daddy,' and 'cookie' and that was about it." She looked up at Weiss, who was still silent. "I had to grow up real fast, Weiss. I had to keep it together, and I never felt so damn alone." Still nothing. "Weiss, if you've got something to say, say it. Don't give me the silent treatment."

Aggravatingly, Weiss didn't say anything for a few more moments. "Yang, you know I'm your friend, yes?"

"Of course."

"Good." Weiss got up, walked over to Yang, looked her friend in the face, and said distinctly, " _Fuck_ you, Yang." The blonde was so astounded by Weiss' language that she was speechless. Weiss sat down next to her. "You think my life was all peaches and cream? When I was ten, my worthless father finally admitted to my mother that the only reason he married her was to get the Schnee name. On my _birthday,_ Yang. In front of me. He'd been at a business meeting, missed my birthday party, Mom got mad, and he lost it. I think she already knew…but when Father admitted it, it pushed her over the edge."

Weiss smoothed the creases in her pants. "First it was separate lunches and dinners. Then opposite balconies at my recitals. A glass of wine with dinner, then with lunch. Then it was no dinners, no recitals, and a bottle of wine a day, until Mother was so drunk all the time that Winter and Klein had to make sure she didn't pass out and drown in her own vomit. Winter got the hell out of there and joined the Luftwaffe, and I did the same as soon as I could. Whitley managed to convince Father to pack him off to a British boarding school. So yes, Yang, I have a mother and you don't. But my mother is a drunken sot who, as you may recall, paid protection money to the White Fang. Her money may have paid for the cannon shell that took your arm."

Yang felt like a jerk. "Weiss…I'm sorry. Shit…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

Weiss smiled wanly. "It's okay. You're right—I don't know loneliness like you do. I have my own version. And Blake does too—a former White Fang terrorist, hiding in a foreign military, praying every day someone doesn't recognize her. And not being able to trust her own flight with her secret."

Yang slammed a fist down on the bed. "But that's just it, Weiss! She doesn't _have_ to be alone! I don't blame her for my arm!" She put her head in her hands. "I was there for her, Weiss. We all were. And she ran."

"Why do you think she ran, Yang?" Weiss' voice was gentle. Yang looked up. "When Blake got to Beacon, she hid the fact she was a Faunus. She was afraid to open up to anyone. She tried to keep her past secret, and I think she tried to forget her past. She tried to protect us. I tore down her walls on that, and there are times I wish I hadn't. But she did finally open up to us, and became our friend. And as soon as she did, the one thing she was afraid of… _actually happened._ It confirmed to her that she had been right all along to stay aloof."

"Yeah, but…" Yang wanted to yell in frustration. "No one blamed her, Weiss! If she'd…if she'd just _talked_ to us, just come down for a day or two in Patch—taken some leave or something—she would've known that. How could I be there for her if she doesn't let me?" The tears were coming now. "God, Weiss, what if I needed her here for _me?"_ She turned, buried her face in Weiss' shoulder, and began sobbing.

Weiss hugged her, trying to hold back her own tears. "I wish she hadn't left either, Yang. I miss her too. The only thing we can do now is be there for her when she's ready to come back."

"If," Yang said, trying to get control of herself.

"When," Weiss corrected her. She gently pushed Yang up, and held her by the cheeks. "Yang, you, Ruby, and wonder of wonders, even Blake…you're more like family to me than my own family. I love Winter, I love Whitley…but they're not my _friends._ I would do anything for you three." She laughed. "As you know. But I'm quite willing to bet that Blake feels the same way." She smoothed back Yang's hair. "So when she's ready, I'll be there for her. And I'm here for you too."

"All for one, and one for all, huh?" Yang smiled, wiping her eyes.

"Something like that."

There was another knock at the door, and Ruby stuck her head in. She hoped that Weiss and Yang hadn't noticed she'd been listening at the door for the past five minutes. "Hey…um…everything okay?"

Yang grinned at her sister. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

"Well…good." Ruby walked in, and took her sister's hands in her own. "Because I still haven't had a chance to look at Weiss' F-20, or this F-23 that I still think is totally bullshit, by the way."

Yang laughed, and allowed herself to be dragged to her feet.


	34. Pumped Up Kicks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake gets a message to meet Ilia...alone. When she leaves, the White Fang prepare their assault on the Belladonna Lodge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, but the assault on the Belladonna Lodge turned out to be longer than I thought, so I'm splitting it into two parts. Besides, the last few chapters have been doorstoppers.
> 
> This scene is pretty different from canon RWBY, but that's the fun part of writing AUs.

_The Belladonna Lodge_

_Paisley, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_19 June 2001_

"80 Faunus." Blake Belladonna sighed as she scanned the list. "I guess it's a start."

"Well, we haven't talked to the nocturnal Faunus yet," Sun said. "We might get more there." About a third of all Faunus were nocturnal—they worked late and slept through the day. "I'll go out tonight and see if I can canvas some of them."

"Sounds good." She handed back the list, then leaned against the railing of her parents' balcony. Sun did as well. He dropped his voice. "Hey. You're not mad at me…for the other night?"

"Why would I be?" Blake smiled. "I was the one who started it, after all." She nudged him. "I already told you were good," she laughed. "Fishing for compliments?"

Sun laughed too, scratching the back of his head. "Sorry." They shared a look, and then he said, "I'm going to go hit the can, then we can get going."

"Right." Blake watched him go, her eyes straying to his muscular rear, inside the blue jeans. He had been _very_ good. Inwardly, she admitted it was kind of comforting to know that she now had more than one sexual partner besides Adam Taurus. She didn't know if she wanted whatever she had with Sun to be more than a one-night stand, but the possibilities were entertaining at least. _Heh. Wait until Yang finds out—_

Blake shook herself. _Where did that thought come from?_ Still, it did sound like something Yang would needle her for, wanting details like length, staying power, what Sun did with his tail, etcetera. _I hope she's okay. Maybe I should call her…quit hiding._

Her fingers suddenly felt paper beneath them. Curious, Blake reached down and pulled a sticky note from the balcony. The paper was fresh and recent, and on it was written:

_B—things going too far. Not sure what to do. Meet me by the ferry landing, where we used to toss rocks. I'll find you. Come alone, or I won't show myself. –Iila_

Blake read the note again, and felt the back of it, where the pen had indented the note. It was definitely Ilia's handwriting. The question wasn't if it was legitimate; the question was if Ilia was serious, or if it was a trap. After what she had said at Ghira's press conference, it sounded like Ilia was just as fanatical for the White Fang as she'd always been.

But if there was a chance…

Blake stuffed the note in her pocket and walked into the living room. Her mother was putting on her jacket as Sun came out of the bathroom. "Are you going somewhere, Mom?" Blake asked.

Kali nodded. "I think I'll help you recruit tonight, dear. I thought we might start at the airport. There's a lot of Faunus who work the late night cargo flights. Besides, I need to check on the planes. Your father signed the charter today, and they should be in."

"I wish you wouldn't go out," Blake replied, worried. "With the White Fang and all…"

Kali laughed, waving it off. "Blake, dear, I've gone out shopping twice in the last two days. Nothing has happened. Besides, the two of you will be with me."

"Actually," Blake said, "I need to take care of something first. I can meet you over there."

"Certainly." Kali raised her voice. "Ghira, we're going recruiting. Want to come with us?"

"I can't." Ghira's voice floated in from his office. "I've got to go through all these passport reports for the people who have already signed up. The Japanese government will be upset if we bring along any felons."

"Suit yourself!" Kali grinned at Sun. "Well, Captain Wukong, it appears you will be my escort for the night. Shall we?"

"Uh, yes'm." He bowed to her, and with a help-me glance at Blake, followed her out. Blake suppressed a giggle. She went up to her room, found her Marine-issue Beretta—she wished she had something with a little more hitting power, but it was all she had—stuffed it in a pocket of her coat, and went out the front door.

Regimental Sergeant Major Ganju Rai was standing on the patio. When he saw Blake, he snapped to attention and saluted her. "Good evening, ma'am." She could see why Rai's nickname was the Python. He was one of the biggest humans she'd ever seen; most Gurkhas were around 5'6" in height, but he was easily a foot taller than that. The kukri on his hip and the SA80 in his right hand looked like toys.

She returned the salute. "Good evening, Sar'major. I'm going to meet my mother and Captain Wukong at the airport, but I have to make a stop first."

"Certainly, ma'am. Let me get Corporal Tamang to escort you."

"No, that's all right."

Rai did not look pleased. "Ma'am, I insist."

Blake hesitated, but Ilia had said to come alone. "No, Sar'major." She was firm, letting the Gurkha know it was an order without being a jerk about it.

"Very well, ma'am." He still didn't look pleased, but he didn't try to stop her either. Kali and Sun had taken Ghira's BMW, so she took her mother's compact.

* * *

A block away, Corsac Albain watched the Lodge through binoculars as the red Fiat drove away. Both he and his brother sat on a roof, dressed in black. A full moon gave wonderful illumination. "She's leaving."

Fennec Albain nodded. "Sister Ilia is doing her part."

"We hope," Corsac told him.

"I think Adam is wrong about her. We shall see." He raised his own set of binoculars. "The monkey Faunus and Kali Belladonna look to be headed towards the airport. Do we wait for them to return, or attack now, while they're divided?" Kali and Sun had taken one of the Gurkhas with them, leaving only three at the Lodge, plus Ghira.

Corsac checked his watch, then motioned his brother off the roof. They slid down a ladder through a skylight, to an attic room. There, twenty Faunus waited expectantly. "Brother Royce, take four and go to the airport. If you see an opportunity, take both Wukong and Kali Belladonna. If not, trail them back here," Fennec ordered.

The deer Faunus nodded. "Yes, sir." He paused. "What do you mean by take?"

"Kill," Corsac simply replied.

Royce still hesitated, but as Corsac opened his mouth to repeat himself, he finally nodded. "Yes, sir." He motioned to four other Faunus, and they went down the stairs. Corsac watched him go, then checked his watch. "We'll give Sister Ilia twenty minutes, and then we strike."

* * *

_The Holy Loch Ferry Docks_

_Greenock, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_19 June 2001_

Blake parked the Fiat, pocketed the keys, pulled out the Beretta, and shut the door to the car as she walked down the street to the ferry. The docks were deserted; it was well after 10 PM, and both the ferry landing and the marina were closed—though the latter's entrance gates were wide open. The ferry was in Holy Loch for the night, across the Firth of Clyde. She looked around. Even with her night vision, Blake could see no one, but that didn't mean there was no one there. "Ilia?" she called out.

"I'm here." The voice made Blake jump a little. Ilia materialized out of the shadows, dressed in the black jumpsuit she'd worn the night Blake and Sun had caught her outside the Lodge, which left her arms and legs bare. Her skin brightened as it went from coal black to its normal tan color. Both Ilia's hands were raised. "Hi, Blake. I see you got my note."

"Yeah. What's going on?"

Ilia stopped about four paces in front of her. "I'm scared, Blake."

"You don't have to be," Blake told her. "My family and I, we can keep you safe."

Ilia closed her eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Blake assured her. "We'll worry about that later. For now, you can come with me back to the Lodge. You'll be all right there."

"No. I'm _sorry._ " Ilia's tone shifted, and Blake's ears caught the noise of movement—not to the side or behind, but above. She looked up just in time to see a batlike shape blot out the moon. She dodged, but not fast enough: the bat Faunus' boots hit her in the back, driving her to the ground. The Beretta flew from her grip, and the air was driven from her lungs. She gasped for breath, dragging herself to all fours, sucking in draughts of air, but the bat pushed her back down with his foot. Before she could react, a sticky, wet substance splattered across her wrists. It hardened almost instantly. Blake rolled to one side, and recognized Trifa, a spider Faunus she'd worked with on occasion when she was still with the White Fang. She saw the bat as well in the moonlight: Yuma. Both were two of Adam's fanatics; there would be no negotiating with either. Yuma bent down to inspect her. "Well done, Sister Trifa—and you, Sister Ilia."

Ilia picked up the fallen Beretta. "Ilia!" Blake pleaded. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I tried to warn you, Blake," Ilia returned. "I told you to leave Menagerie."

Blake opened her mouth to tell her former friend exactly what she could do with that, but Yuma shoved her to the ground. "The Belladonnas have done much good," he said, "but now you and your family are holding the Faunus back."

"Because we're trying to protect people?" Blake shot back. "In what kind of world do you live in where attacking the innocent is the right thing to do?"

"The same one as you!" Ilia shouted. "There's no such thing as innocent. There's no right thing to do. It's all a nightmare, and you pick your nightmare side."

"We don't like hurting people," Yuma added, though he glanced up at Ilia's words for a moment. "But as you know, Blake…it gets results."

"Some results," Blake said. "Dead humans and dead Faunus. And none of it has solved a damn thing!"

"We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good," Ilia said, sadness in her voice, "no matter how much it hurts."

"And you think killing _me_ is really for the greater good?" Blake demanded.

"No," Ilia said. "Killing them is." She brought the pistol up.

Yuma put a hand up. "Ilia, stop! Adam wants her alive!"

"I know." Ilia thrust the Beretta past Yuma's fingers and pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet hit him in the shoulder, halfway spinning him around; the second took him high in the chest. He fell to the ground. Trifa froze, stunned; Ilia turned slightly and shot her between the eyes. The spider Faunus died with a shocked look on her face.

Yuma was struggling to get up, his good hand pressed against the oozing wound in his chest. "Ilia," he whispered through the pain. "Why? Why?" She didn't answer. The chameleon simply stepped forward, leveled the Beretta, and killed him.

Blake's eyes were huge. It took her a minute to find her voice, while Ilia stared at the bodies of her erstwhile comrades. "Ilia?" Ilia whirled on her, tears in her eyes. She knelt, set the Beretta down, wiped her eyes, and pulled a knife from a booth sheath. For a second, Blake squirmed away, thinking Ilia was going to cut her throat, but instead, she began working on the webbing. "Ilia, why?" Blake asked. "You turned on them!"

"I turned on them a long time ago," Ilia said, sawing at the webs. "Blake, I've been the CIA's mole in the White Fang since you left."

Blake's mouth fell open. "That's…that's why you spared that sergeant over in Iowa before the attack on Beacon."

"And why I dragged my feet as long as I could, instead of destroying all the planes at Beacon." Finally the tough webbing gave, and Blake could use her hands again. "I guess I might as well tell you. I was Source Camo. Not the most inventive name, I'll admit. I was deep cover, which was why I had to denounce your parents the other day, and I had to attack Beacon with Sienna—as well as almost shoot down your friend Weiss." Her mouth quirked. "Though that wasn't _all_ my cover. You know how I feel about the Schnees."

Blake sat up, and Ilia handed the Beretta back to her. "But…why?"

Ilia paused. "Do you remember the passage in the Bible about the scales falling from Paul's eyes? I suppose that happened to me. I saw what the White Fang was becoming, but I figured as long as you were still true to the cause, I could be too. Then you left."

"Why didn't you come with me?"

"No chance. Adam watched me like a hawk after that. I regained his confidence after Mountain Glenn, but he still suspected me. I think he's figured it out anyway. So my cover's blown." She helped Blake to her feet. "He wanted you alive, and there was no way in hell I was going to allow that to happen."

"Thank you, Ilia," Blake smiled.

The chameleon Faunus' skin shifted just slightly, the equivalent of a blush. "There's something I want to talk with you about, but this isn't the time."

"What's their plan?"

"Three teams. Corsac and Fennec will hit the Lodge soon. A second team will attack your mother and that Sun guy. The third was me."

"Adam?"

"No, he's in Lossiemouth, with Sienna." She motioned to the bodies. "Probably about thirty Faunus total in the assault. I had three, including myself."

"All right. Let's go." Blake started for her car. "I'm a Marine, which means I'm a rifleman first and a pilot second. Besides, my F-14's not much good against a ground assault, even if I could get there in time." She looked at Ilia. "Are you coming with me?"

Ilia looked back at Yuma and Trifa. "Yes," she said, and followed Blake to the car. Blake turned the key with one hand while she reached for her phone with the other. As they pulled out of the dock parking lot, she hit speed-dial for her mother. "Come on, Mom. Pick up."

* * *

_Glasgow International Airport_

_Abbotsinch, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_19 June 2001_

"That went pretty well," Sun said with a smile. "Don't you think so, Mrs. B?"

"Indeed!" she agreed. "Twenty more recruits. That doesn't surprise me, really. The cargo workers around here are their own clique. They've never really had much time for the White Fang, even when Ghira and I were running it." She stopped as they reached the parking lot. "You know, let's walk over to my hangar." She turned to the Gurkha with them. "Private Pun, would you mind following us at a bit of a distance?" He nodded and fell back a few paces.

As they walked across a deserted tarmac, Kali smiled at Sun. "So…how long have you been sleeping with my daughter, Captain Wukong?"

Sun nearly fell. Kali had said it casually, but there was an edge to the voice. He had been terrified of the father; now he wondered if the mother was the bigger threat. "Uh…Mrs. B, I'm not sure what you mean—"

"Oh, yes you do," she insisted, still with the sweet smile. "I heard the two of you the other night." She shook her head. "My poor Blake…always forgetting that these ears of mine are not just genetic engineering." An eyebrow arched. "Well, Captain?"

"Um…yes, Mrs. B. I…we…yes."

"I see. Is this a one-night stand affair or the beginning of a beautiful relationship?"

"I…uh…you'll have to ask Blake, Mrs. B."

"I see," she said again. "And what would you prefer, Captain Wukong?"

"Er…I hadn't really thought about it."

"Right then." She stopped. "Then I ask three things of you. First, that you be careful. Two, that you be discreet. And three…" Kali took one step forward. "…if you break her heart, you will learn why I was named for the Hindu goddess of death." She emphasized the last word. "Am I quite clear, Captain Wukong?"

"Yes, Mrs. B."

"Splendid!" She raised her voice. "And to the White Fang terrorists hiding in the shadows, you should come out of there immediately." She rolled her eyes. "Why are people always forgetting my ears?"

Royce stepped out of the shadows, along with another of his team. Both had guns drawn, and Sun cursed inwardly for not bringing his weapon. Private Pun unslung his SA80, but there were two on him. "Put the gun down!" Royce ordered him. The Gurkha did not move.

"Put it down," Kali told the Gurkha. "It's all right."

"I will not give up my weapon," Pun replied.

"Put it down or she dies," Royce said, leveling the pistol at Kali's head.

Kali stared at him. "Royce Williamson. Didn't you and Blake used to play together when you were little?" He blinked. "You had the biggest collection of Playmobils in Paisley." She leaned forward until her forehead was resting against the barrel. "Shoot me."

"I…" Royce's hand began to shake. "How…" They were all wearing their masks.

"I know your voice. Shoot me!" Kali snapped. "That's what you were ordered here to do! That's what Sienna wants!" She bared her teeth at him. "Shoot me!"

Pun still had the SA80 raised, but the two Faunus covering him were watching Kali and Royce. So was the wolf Faunus standing behind Sun. No one moved.

"I'm waiting," Kali said.

"I…oh, God." Royce lowered the pistol, his hands trembling. "I can't."

"Those are our orders!" the wolf yelled. "We have to!" Sun watched him. The wolf began to shift his pistol towards Kali, and Sun lashed out with his tail, grabbing the Faunus by the heel and pulling back. The wolf yelped, his pistol hand shot upwards, and Sun smoothly took it from him, leaping back. The other two White Fang hesitated, and without warning, a beefy pair of hands reached out and smashed one of them to the ground. Pan whirled, bringing up the SA80, and the last White Fang dropped his pistol and raised his hands. Royce saw what had happened, and threw his pistol on the tarmac. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Belladonna," he cried, tears running down his face. "I thought…I could…"

The wolf, who was still on the ground with Sun sticking his own pistol in his face, screamed at him. "You dumb shit! You were supposed to shoot her!"

Kali turned, shaking her head. "Sienna should have had better sense to send someone I didn't use to babysit. Or pick a place to attack where the ground crews couldn't still see us."

The owner of the large hands stepped out of the shadows, along with about twenty other Faunus, all dressed in overalls. "Mrs. Belladonna. Are you quite all right?" the foreman said. He was a bull Faunus, with long horns sticking out of his head.

"Fine, thank you. Call airport security and take these people into custody." Kali reached down and took off Royce's mask. "I'm glad you couldn't, Royce. What is going on?"

"We…" He slumped, beaten. "We were supposed to kill you. Sister Ilia will kidnap Blake, while the Albains lead an assault on the Lodge." He glanced at his watch. "It's probably already started."

"Is that all?"

"No…there's more." Royce sighed. "After the Lodge was destroyed, the White Fang were going to hit this airport with an airstrike." He pointed at the distant charter ramp. "To destroy your airliners, the ones you chartered to fly to Japan." He put his head in his hands. "Oh God, what have I done?"

"The right thing." Kali motioned to Pan. "Private, keep these people covered. You others, help the private and airport security when they get here. Captain Wukong, with me." She scooped up Royce's pistol and hurried towards the hangar they had been walking towards. Her phone rang as they ran. Kali reached into a pocket and snapped it open. "Oh, hello, Blake. Yes, darling, we're fine. Yes, they did attack us, but Royce led the assault." She paused, and even Sun could hear Blake's words about that. "The same. I suppose Sienna didn't know about your history with him." She quickly gave Blake a rundown on Royce's confession as they reached the hangar, and listened to Blake's hurried explanation of what had happened at the docks. She stuffed the pistol into the waistband of her skirt, cradled the phone on her shoulder, and withdrew her keys. "Don't worry about the airstrike, Blake dear. I've got that covered. I'll be sending Sun and Private Pan back to the Lodge presently. Yes, love you too, honey." She hung up and opened the door, then tossed the keys to Sun. "Get back to the car and get to the Lodge. Ghira will need your help. Blake's on the way."

"I thought that Ilia chick—"

"Turns out she's on our side." Kali shrugged and smiled. "Ilia's always had a crush on Blake. You may have competition."

"Does _everyone_ like her?" Sun exclaimed.

"Well, she does take after her mother." She flipped on the lights. "I'll take care of the airstrike, Captain. Unfortunately, I only have the one aircraft."

Sun whistled. In the center of a hangar was a Folland Gnat, resplendent in gloss green and white. "I remember Blake mentioning you used to be a fighter pilot…"

"Being a fighter pilot is like being a mother, Sun," she said, using his first name for the first time. "You never quite stop." She shooed him off as she hit the button to open the hangar doors.


	35. In the House, In a Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The White Fang hit the Belladonna Lodge with a strike team, and only Ghira and three Gurkhas are there to defend it. And then there's the incoming airstrike...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fight for the Belladonna Lodge concludes. This chapter didn't quite go as planned, and it's a much shorter fight than the three-episode one in canon RWBY. The reason is that, once you take Ilia out of the mix (and once I sent Sun off with Kali), that fight gets a lot shorter. In canon RWBY, of course, Ilia was still part of the White Fang; here, she's been a deep cover CIA agent, so there was no reason for her and Blake to fight. Still, I hope it's a good chapter.

_The Belladonna Lodge_

_Paisley, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_19 June 2001_

Corporal Chatuskami Tamang stood guard at the top of the stairs, on the veranda, at parade rest. She held the barrel of the SA80 in one hand; the other was at the small of her back. The front door opened; she saw Ghira Belladonna stick his head out and snapped to attention. "Good evening, Corporal."

"Good evening, sir!" she snapped out.

"Would you like some tea?"

A quick shake of the head. "No, sir. Thank you, sir."

Ghira smiled. He rather liked the young corporal, who reminded him a little of Blake. "Right. Carry…" His voice trailed off, and he sniffed the air. "Corporal, have you seen anything unusual?"

"No, sir. I relieved the RSM just after your daughter left." She looked around. "Is something the matter, sir?"

Ghira peered into the darkness. Something didn't seem right. There was no noise, nothing on the street—though the latter wasn't unusual, as Paisley tended to be pretty quiet after dark, and the lodge was on the edge of town. Even the birds were quiet.

And suddenly Ghira knew exactly what was wrong. He had served in many corners of the former British Empire as a Royal Marine, both being ambushed and ambushing others. The fact that there was no noise at all was his proof that they were about to be hit. "Corporal," he said softly but firmly, "I want you to move back inside. Make it casual."

"Sir?" Tamang looked confused.

"We are about to be attacked. Move back into the house," he repeated, beginning to edge back himself. "That is an order, Corporal."

"Yes, sir—" Tamang brought up the SA80 to her shoulder, when suddenly she stiffened and gasped. Ghira heard something hit the door behind her, then saw the blood. A half-second later, he heard the distant crack of a rifle. Tamang fell to the ground as if she was a puppet whose strings had been cut. She looked down at her uniform and the spreading red stain in her chest. "Sorry, sir," she struggled out. "I think I've been hit."

Ghira grabbed Tamang by the lapels of her tunic and threw himself backwards through the open door. He felt before he heard the passage of another bullet over his head, and managed to get Tamang through the door before he kicked it shut. "Rai!" he shouted.

Ganju Rai had been sitting at the living room table, pouring tea and waiting for Ghira to return. He instantly figured out what was happening. "Sergeant Gurung! Get off the balcony _now!"_

Sergeant Gajendera Gurung walked briskly into the kitchen, then saw Tamang on the floor. He brought up the SA80, then turned and shut both the doors to the balcony. Unlike the heavy front doors, the balcony doors were more flimsy. He then took cover behind the kitchen table, where he could cover the balcony and provide flanking fire to Rai and Ghira.

Rai knelt next to Ghira, who slammed the bolt home on the doors. "White Fang," he growled. "Sniper. They'll probably hit the house next." Rai nodded, pulling off his uniform shirt and tearing off the sleeves as ersatz bandages. Tamang looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Sorry, RSM. I never saw the sniper. I'm afraid I've lost my weapon."

"Rest easy," Rai said. He lifted the corporal like she was a child and began carrying her upstairs. "Ghira, we can't hold the first floor. Too many points of entry."

"I know. We'll have to fall back to the upstairs bedrooms—" Then he leapt backwards, as the front door suddenly bowed in and began to splinter.

* * *

"Hit it again!" Corsac Albain shouted, then checked his watch. "Brother Fennec, have you heard from Sister Ilia yet?

"She's overdue," Fennec Albain replied. He fished out his phone, and nodded to Corsac to continue.

The White Fang had moved forward in a silent, fast run from side streets, where Tamang could not have seen them. Each of the twenty Faunus was dressed in black, except for their white masks. The sniper at the Fang hideout had taken care of the Gurkha on guard at the front door, but Ghira had sensed the ambush and gotten back inside. Fennec was not overly worried; they had anticipated that the ambush might be tripped early and the doors locked. Four of the burliest White Fang carried a large metal pole, a breaching device, and were slamming it against the thick front doors of the Belladonna Lodge. Corsac checked his watch again; they would have probably less than half an hour before the Paisley police arrived, and the White Fang had to assume that the Gurkhas had backup stationed somewhere in Glasgow itself. It would be more than enough time to kill Ghira Belladonna.

Fennec dialed in Ilia's number. It rang once. "Ilia."

"Sister Ilia, have you accomplished your mission?"

"I have. The package is on its way. I'm proceeding in your direction in the red Fiat Blake was driving."

"Very good. I'll advise Brother James."

"Is he still at the previous location?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. My ETA is five minutes." The line clicked off. He turned to Corsac. "Ilia should be here in five minutes. Should I have James kill her when she arrives?"

"Let her join the attack first," Corsac told him. This was Adam's addition to the plan: Ilia Amitola would be found among the bodies in the Lodge, and used as a scapegoat. The Albains had not been entirely sure of that aspect of the plan, but knew better than to argue with Adam Taurus.

There was a heavy splintering of wood, and Corsac whistled. The four White Fang dropped the breaching device and fell back; there was now a large hole in the door. They waited for gunfire to come through the door, but none came.

* * *

Ghira had fallen back from the door, grabbed the couch, and flipped it over. Rai knew they would never make the trip upstairs now, so he sat Tamang by the entrance to the library. Her head lolled when he set her down, and her eyes stared at nothing. Rai checked her pulse, sighed, issued a short but appropriate curse, and left her, grabbing her kukri as he did so. "Gurung, hold where you are!" He saw the hole appear in the door and ducked down behind the couch with Ghira. He handed the Faunus his pistol and the kukri. "Tamang's dead."

"Fuck," Ghira spat as he watched over the couch. Then he saw four cylindrical objects tossed through the hole and land on the floor. He ducked down. "Flashbangs." Ghira clapped his hands over his ears and opened his mouth to equalize the pressure. Even with that and the cover provided by the big couch, the explosions were enough to feel like someone had hit him in the back with a truck. Behind the flashbangs came smoke canisters, and after those, the door was smashed open. Ten White Fang charged in, long killing blades drawn, and fanned out.

Rai recovered faster than Ghira. He popped up from behind the couch and opened fire with the SA80. With the smoke, it was hard to see, and he fired at shadows, in short, controlled bursts. One shadow screamed and went down, but he couldn't see if his shots had hit anyone else. Then the White Fang surged out of the smoke, screaming at the top of their lungs. One Fang leapt atop the overturned couch, but Ghira grabbed his leg and tossed him into the nearest wall with ridiculous ease. He dodged a thrust from another knife, shoved the Fang backwards, and shot him twice with the pistol, only to be grabbed by a Faunus nearly as big as he was, who wrestled the gun away from Ghira.

Rai saw three White Fang headed for him. He shot one, smashed another in the mouth with the SA80, and the third suddenly arched his back, blood pouring from his mouth as Gurung killed him with a burst. Rai threw down the SA80 and drew his kukri. _"Aayo Gurkhali!"_ he shouted, and leapt into the midst of his enemies. The kukri slashed downwards, and a White Fang soldier's head fell to the floor.

Ghira grabbed the White Fang who had grabbed his pistol, headbutted him, and sent him stumbling backwards. Two others hesitated. Ghira bared his fangs and let out a bellow of pure rage; black claws appeared at his fingertips. Then he was knocked backwards as the Faunus with the pistol shot him through the shoulder. The war cry turned into a shout of pain.

* * *

Outside, Corsac heard Ghira's shout. "I believe it's time our chieftain stepped down, Brother Fennec."

"Yes, Brother Corsac," Fennec answered. "I'm afraid I'm inclined to agree." He pulled his own long-bladed knife from its sheath, and Corsac did the same. Fennec raised his voice. "Second team, go!"

* * *

The two White Fang charged Ghira, seeing an advantage in his wound. Ghira backhanded one of them, then rammed his claws into another's stomach. The Fang screamed as he ripped his way back out, tearing away skin and entrails.

Rai stepped back to cover Ghira's back, his kukri and his hand covered in blood. They saw the other White Fang coming through the door. Gurang had his hands full, fighting off two more Fang with the bayonet on his SA80. "Well," Rai puffed, "still not as bad as that night in Hong Kong."

* * *

Edward James lay on the roof of the White Fang safehouse, a block away. He watched the second team form up and go screaming into the house, and sighed. There wasn't much he could do here. He doubted the Gurkhas would be stupid enough to flee out the balcony entrance; he was frankly surprised he'd managed to shoot even one of them. James, like many members of the White Fang, actually had some military experience; he'd served in the British Army in Europe, where he'd learned his sniper's trade.

He heard footsteps coming up the ladder and took his eyes away from the scope for a moment, putting one hand on the pistol holstered on his hip. "Who's there?"

"Sister Ilia." The voice was muffled but was distinctly feminine.

"Ah, all right." He went back to his scanning. "How did things go at the dock?"

"Well enough," Blake Belladonna replied. James hesitated for a moment, finally realizing that the voice was not Ilia Amitola's. The hesitation cost him his life. Blake had grabbed a phone cord out of the wall downstairs, and now used it as a garrote. She whipped it around his throat, pulled backwards as hard as she could, and planted both knees into his back. There was a sickening crunch of bone, and James went limp, gasping for air through a crushed trachea. She let him fall off the roof to the street below, tossed the cord aside, and lay down on the roof, picking up the scoped rifle. Blake sighted through the scope, settled the crosshairs on Fennec Albain's head, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

The Albains started forward. Fennec put his hand on Corsac's shoulder. "Brother—"

The bullet caught him in the back of the head and exited out his right eye. Blood, bone and brains exploded over Corsac, splashing across his face. The body of Fennec Albain fell to the stairs. Corsac's knife fell from nerveless fingers. "Fennec?" he said in a quiet voice. "Fennec?" Dimly, he heard the screech of tires, and turned, still stunned by the sudden death of his brother, to see Ilia pull up in the Fiat. She was out of the car before it had fully stopped, and ran forward. "Sister Ilia," Corsac said, "I think Fennec is dead."

She ignored him, cupping both hands to her mouth. "White Fang! Get out of there! Fall back, retreat! The police are here!"

The second team of White Fang, hearing a familiar voice behind them, and seeing the bloodied, angry Gurkha and Faunus chieftain ahead, obeyed the order. They fell back, leaving twelve of their number in bloody heaps on Kali's once immaculate wood floor. They turned to Ilia for orders, but before she could give any, a BMW tore down one of the side streets, swerved, and skidded to a halt. The window rolled down and Private Pan stuck his SA80 out of the window. Sun Wukong jumped out of the driver's side and braced himself across the roof, pointing a pistol at the White Fang. "Drop your weapons!" he yelled. "Surrender!"

Several of the White Fang had guns of their own, and began to reach for them. "Do as he says!" Ilia shouted. Some looked back at her. She carefully withdrew Blake's Beretta and tossed it on the ground in front of her, raising her hands. Confusion swept through the White Fang ranks. A spark suddenly shot from the stairs just ahead of them, and they heard the whine of a ricochet. It was all the encouragement the surviving White Fang needed. They threw down their weapons and raised their hands.

"James," Corsac breathed. "He's a turncoat."

"It's not James," Ilia said out of the side of her mouth. "It's Blake." Realization came over his face, and one hand drifted towards his knife, but she shook her head. "Not unless you want to end up like your brother."

Ghira and Rai stepped out of the remains of the front door. Blood ran down Ghira's arm from where he had been shot, but he didn't seem to notice. "I think we've been relieved," Rai said, with a tired smile.

"I hope." Then all of them reflexively ducked as two fighters roared overhead and headed for Abbotsinch.

* * *

Blake jumped as well, almost dropping the rifle. She looked up, recognizing the silhouettes in the moonlight. "MiGs?" Then she realized where they were headed. "Oh shit. The charters."

She stood on the roof, watching helplessly as the MiGs streaked for the airport. Then a shadow flitted over the moon.

* * *

Kali Belladonna was flying without a G-suit or oxygen mask; she was wearing her old helmet, while her stockinged feet manipulated the rudder pedals. She'd been allowed to keep her little Gnat after she'd retired from the Indian Air Force and married Ghira, as a gift from the Indian government. Ghira had insisted that it be kept fueled and loaded with ammunition for its twin 30 millimeter Aden cannon, although it was a single-seater; he'd feared that one day Kali might have to flee for her life from a White Fang attack, which might include aircraft—namely Adam Taurus' Moonslice.

She wasn't fleeing, and Kali was glad not to see the distinctive shape of the Moonslice. The Gnat was a small aircraft, but a nimble and deadly fighter. The two MiG-21 pilots hadn't seen her: she'd positioned herself as high as she could without needing oxygen, and the two White Fang fighters made nice targets against the lights of Paisley. She dived, but held her fire. If she shot down the MiGs now, they would crash into the town, or worse, into the parked aircraft at the airport. She hoped there was no other air traffic around; she'd already declared an emergency in taking off from Glasgow airport, but had no idea if the air traffic controllers had actually shut the airport down. She noticed they were carrying rocket pods, not bombs, which made sense: the White Fang were going to make one rocket pass and then head for home; bombs would have cut into their already short range.

 _Now this is going to take some careful timing,_ she thought. She hoped the Adens were loaded with tracer rounds, opened fire to one side of the MiGs, and prayed her tactic would work.

It did. The MiG pilots saw tracer skitter past to their left, and instinctively broke right, abandoning their run, taking them out over the Firth of Clyde. She stayed with them in the turn, letting the gunsight pipper settle over the spine of the MiG, just behind the cockpit. She fired a short burst. The heavy cannon shells punched through the thin aluminum and into the fuel tank. The MiG became a comet, rolling into a terminal dive that ended in the dark water below. The other MiG pulled up into a climb, but Kali followed him into it; the Gnat was nearly as good in the vertical as the MiG-21, and she suspected she was up against inexperienced pilots. Another burst into the glowing tailpipe of the MiG, and the engine flamed out. As the MiG-21 stalled and began to fall backwards, the pilot ejected.

Kali watched a parachute blossom over the pilot, and the MiG tumble into the water as well. "Glasgow Tower, Kali One," she radioed, using her old callsign. "Splash two. You may open the airport now, I think the threat is over."

* * *

_The Belladonna Lodge_

_Paisley, Lower Scotland, Menagerie_

_19 June 2001_

"What a mess." Lieutenant Saber Rodentia shook his head as some of his men carried out stretchers from the house. Only two of the stretchers had living Faunus on them; the others were covered by sheets. Blood trails covered the stairs to the front door, and there was still one huge, dark stain where Fennec Albain had died. Blake, leaning against her mother's Fiat, stared at that stain for awhile. She'd killed before, more than anyone else in Ruby Flight, but it still bothered her. She was glad it _still_ bothered her.

Ghira walked up to her. His shirt was off, but he did not seem chilled. A bandage wrapped around his shoulder and upper chest. She looked up at him and smiled. "You okay, Dad?"

"Mm. The bullet lodged in the muscle. Not too deep; a few stitches, that's all. I've had a lot worse." He put his arm around her. "I'm glad you're all right. Your mother is parking the Gnat; she'll be along presently."

"Can't believe Mom still had that old thing," Blake said.

"Glad she did." He bent down. "And Ilia, I'm told that you defected?" His voice betrayed him; Ghira didn't trust her.

Ilia sat in the Fiat, trying to stay out of sight. The police had handcuffed her, but on Blake's request put her in the car. She had told Rodentia that Ilia was looking to defect. He hadn't believed her either. "Yes," Ilia said, quietly. The enormity of what had just happened was starting to dawn on her. She was now well and truly out of the White Fang, an organization that had once given her life and a chance for revenge. Now there was just her friendship with Blake, and the hope that would be enough.

Blake leaned over to whisper. "Dad, Ilia's been a deep cover CIA agent since I left the White Fang. She's always been on our side."

"Despite what I said the other day," Ilia said, her skin turning a little pink. "I had to maintain my cover, Mr. Belladonna. I'm sorry."

Ghira straightened up. "Huh," was all he said.

"How are the Gurkhas?" Blake said, to change the subject.

"Tamang got killed by the sniper. Pan's unhurt. Gurung got some scrapes and scratches, and Rai's got about the same. Thank God they were here," Ghira breathed. If he'd been alone, or if it had just been himself and Kali, they would be the ones being carried out in covered stretchers.

Sun walked up to them and stopped in front of Blake. "Glad to see you're okay. Sorry I wasn't here."

Blake smiled and hugged him. "It's okay."

"Your mom knows," he whispered in her human ear. Blake barely managed to cover her expression of shock. That was a conversation for later, and she hoped Kali didn't tell Ghira, or there might be an addition to the body count. Ghira was already giving Sun a dirty look.

Rodentia came up to them and saluted. "We think we've gotten everyone—including the sniper you took care of, Mis—Captain Belladonna," he corrected himself, addressing Blake. "I've sent a team to the docks as well." He looked at Ghira. "I am terribly sorry we didn't get here sooner, Mr. President."

"This was a professional hit," Ghira replied. "It would have made no difference." All of them stared at Corsac Albain, still spattered with his brother's blood, being led to the back of a squad car. He stared back at them dejectedly. "Was it worth it?" Rodentia asked, and Corsac turned away.

Blake noticed that there was a steadily growing crowd of people, mostly Faunus, who were arriving and watching the cleanup of the bodies, and the escort of the prisoners to two paddywagons waiting to take them to prison. She suddenly had an idea and climbed up on top of the Fiat.

"Faunus of Menagerie!" she called out. Heads turned in her direction. _Here goes,_ she thought. She'd never been good at speeches, though Adam had once said she could be rather inspiring when the mood was on her. For once, she hoped he was right. She pointed at the front of her house. "Humans didn't do this! _We_ did this—Faunus! We did this to ourselves!

"We are just as capable of hate and violence as the humans, but no one wants to say it out loud. So why is Adam Taurus doing it for us? By doing nothing and staying silent, we let _others_ speak and act in our place. And if we don't like what they're doing, and do nothing, then we have no one to blame but ourselves." She stabbed a finger at the bloody stain. " _This_ is the message that Adam Taurus will bring to the world if no one stops him. But _we_ can stop him!"

She looked out over the crowd. "You have to understand that all of you—all of us—are looking for simple answers to a very complicated problem. And I can't give the answer to you either. I don't know how to make hate go away. I don't. But I _do_ know that this kind of violence is not the solution." She paused, glanced at Sun and her father. Both were smiling at her. "I understand that to ask you to leave your homes and go thousands of miles away to protect people you don't know is risky. But we have to. We have to forgive the humans the past. They have to forgive us the present, if we're to have a future together. Because if we have no future together…" Blake shook her head. "Then we have no future at all." She gave a nod. "Sun Wukong and I are going to Japan. By ourselves if we have to."

She heard and felt the door to the Fiat open. "I'll go with you," Ilia said. "If you'll have me." This sent up a lot of murmurs from the crowd. Ilia wasn't wearing her mask, but many recognized her all the same.

Rodentia gave her a look of disbelief. "I don't know…"

Blake nodded at the policeman. "Let her go."

"After what she said? After what she did?" Rodentia argued. "You're just going to forgive her?"

"I am," Blake simply replied. Rodentia could not know about Ilia's true allegiance, but both of them understood that forgiving a former White Fang member was a symbol.

"There is strength in forgiveness," Ghira added.

A young Faunus about Ruby's age, Blake figured, stepped out of the crowd. "I'm Dodge Mata, and I'll go!" he announced.

After a brief hesitation, a female Faunus with fins on her arms—one of the few amphibious species of Faunus—stepped forward as well. "I'll go!"

An older Faunus with antlers, who had been standing next to Mata, took a step forward. "No one will call me a coward! I'll go!"

Cheers erupted from the crowd as dozens of others stepped forward. Blake hopped down and grinned to Sun. "Looks like we got work to do," he grinned back.

"It looks that way."

He pulled out the notepad from his back pocket, then faced Ilia. "You know, you owe me for kicking me in the balls."

Ilia turned pink again. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, and slapped her on the butt. Ilia squeaked, her eyes wide. "There. Let's just call it even." He winked at her and walked over to the crowd to take names.

"Jerk!" Ilia called out after him, but then she started smiling.

"How long do we have?" Ghira asked the chameleon Faunus in a lower voice.

"Two days. Three at the most," she informed him.

He nodded as a taxi forced its way through the crowd and parked behind the Fiat. Kali stepped out of the back, saw Ghira, and rushed to him, embracing her husband. "Are you all right?"

"Fine."

"The Gurkhas?"

"One dead. Tamang."

"Oh God." Kali leaned against her husband. Then she saw Blake, who was still smiling, and Ghira and Ilia both beaming at her. "All right," Kali said, "what did I miss?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rai's war cry translates roughly to "The Gurkhas are upon you!" It's pretty much the last thing you want to hear a Gurkha yell (and if you're opposing them, it probably will be the last thing you hear, period). I admit to cribbing the last part of Blake's speech from Julius Limbarni in The Wild Geese, and I'll admit I've done it before in other fanfics. Given that I think it's the best speech on racism outside of MLK, I figured no one would mind.


	36. Head Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the calm before the storm as the White Fang figure out what to do next, and Leonardo Lionheart plans a trap for Ruby and Norn Flights. 
> 
> Or is he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the description says, the calm before the storm chapter. Next up will be the Battle of Haven chapters.

_Lossiemouth_

_Northern Scotland, Menagerie_

_20 June 2001_

Sienna Khan sat on the rock, watching the sea crash against the shore. It was a cloudy, cold morning, but she didn't notice, other than tightening her cape closer around her body. The sun was rising, burning away the clouds, but Sienna didn't see it as an omen.

"Good morning, High Leader."

She turned. Adam Taurus walked to her side, one hand on his sword as usual. "There's nothing good about it."

"I suppose not," he sighed. "So…what is our next move?"

She picked up a pebble and threw it into the ocean. "We have to lie low for a time, I'm afraid. The failure of the raid on the Belladonnas will cost us a great deal of goodwill and political capital. The defection of Ilia Amitola badly compromises our security." She smiled wanly. "Well, we've done this before when the heat has gotten too much. We will rebuild and come back stronger than before."

"Where will we go?" Adam asked.

"We still have a base in South America." She shrugged. "I would suggest the Russian Dead Zones, but I imagine Salem won't be happy with us."

"And Haven—Japan?"

Sienna shook her head. "Ilia knows that plan. I'm afraid it's compromised as well."

"I warned you not to trust her," Adam reminded.

"Yes, you did." She looked behind her, and saw her remaining White Fang gathering by the hangar. There were still a fair number of them, and there were still cells worldwide. They'd suffered a setback, a grevious one, but not a fatal one. "I suppose I should address them." She got off the rock, dusted off her skirt, and walked towards the gathering, Adam at her side. "I'm sorry you'll have to wait for your revenge on Blake Belladonna," she said.

"We'll see," was all he answered.

Sienna stopped about twenty paces from the crowd. "White Fang!" she spoke loudly, letting none of her sorrow or worry enter her voice. "I will not lie to you! We have suffered a defeat the past few days, with the loss of the Tabey seat and the failed raid on the Belladonna Lodge and Glasgow Airport. Added to this is Sister Ilia turning traitor. However, though these events are indeed defeats, we must not despair!"

"What will we do, High Leader?" a wolf Faunus in the front row asked.

"We will go quiet for awhile. We will relocate our base elsewhere—Menagerie will be too difficult for now, and too close to the British. We will gather our strength, plan anew, build anew, and come back stronger than before!"

Sienna halfway expected a cheer. There was nothing but sullen silence. _Very well,_ she thought. _They're angry and upset. Good. I can channel that into hard work._ "We have much to do and little time," she told them, in a less strident voice. "Let's go to work. Dismissed."

"No." The word came from Adam. Sienna whirled on him, and he gazed back calmly through the mask.

"What did you say?" she shrilled.

"I said no." To her surprise, he stepped forward and raised his voice. "The High Leader is not wrong, White Fang. We _have_ suffered defeats. The raid on the Belladonna Lodge was worse than a defeat—it was a mistake. Attempting to win a _political_ solution through the Menagerie Council was a mistake. Putting our faith in pirate gangs like the Torchwick Gang was a mistake. And each time, these mistakes have cost us valuable people, time, and equipment." He glanced back at her. "And each one of these mistakes was planned and executed by High Leader Sienna Khan."

"You son of a bitch," Sienna exploded at him. "You agreed to every one of those, you bastard!"

"I did," Adam admitted. "And _I_ made a mistake. And I intend to rectify that."

"Oh?" Sienna raised an eyebrow. "And what is _your_ plan, Adam?"

"We will attack Haven as agreed upon. Because that plan is _not_ a mistake."

Sienna laughed derisively. "Attack a prepared target?"

"Not a prepared target," Adam told her. "Ilia thinks she knows what the target is. She's wrong. Haven is not the base she thinks it is." He turned his back on her, and saw Hazel Rainart at the periphery of the crowd, his powerful arms crossed across his broad chest, but his address was to the White Fang. "Listen to me, my brothers and sisters. We _can_ win a war against the humans, and we will not win this war by retreating and hiding. We, the Faunus, are the dominant species on this planet. We're better than humans. We have everything they have and more. Humans shouldn't just fear the Faunus…" his lips curled into a smile, a smile he saw reflected on many of the White Fang "…they should _serve_ the Faunus." There was no cheer, but there was a rumble of agreement; there were smiles, nods, snarls, and clenched fists.

"I've had enough of this, you fucking lunatic." Sienna motioned to the two burly Faunus that were her bodyguards. "Take him away. Lock him in the toilet until Adam recovers what's left of his senses." The guards did not move. "I said, arrest him!"

"On what charge?" one of the guards replied. Then they did move—to stand next to Adam.

"It appears that you have no support," Adam told her.

"A coup, then?" Sienna snorted, and raised her voice. "You would follow a madman?" she told the crowd. "A Faunus that is obsessed with Ghira Belladonna's daughter, and would lead you into ruin so he can have his petty revenge on her for leaving him?"

"Better a madman," said Adam, "than an incompetent."

Her fangs bared in a snarl. "If you think I'm going to just step aside and follow beneath you, you're wrong."

"I know." Adam drew his sword.

Sienna considered asking for a sword or a spear to make it a trial by combat, but realized that her chances of winning were remote; Adam was a superb swordsman. And even if she did manage to win, the White Fang were no longer hers to command. She was dead either way. She stepped to one side. "Is this your choice, White Fang? To follow this lunatic?" The stares she got were mostly hostile; a few were sympathetic, but too few, and even those looked at her with pity.

She was going to die. Sienna was surprised at how calm she felt. She had tried hard, fought hard, and she had failed. Now she would perish at the hands of her own second-in-command, a man she had groomed to take over if something should happen to her. She had exploited Adam's ambition, and now it would cost her life.

So be it, Sienna thought. At least she would be spared the indignity of prison.

She looked at Adam. "At least let me pick where I die. And do it yourself, you bloody fool. Don't hand it off to these hamhanded idiots." She motioned at her former bodyguards.

"Naturally," Adam replied.

Sienna turned around and returned to the seashore. She heard Adam walk up behind her, and the crowd at a respectful distance. "I won't die on my knees," she told him without looking at him.

"I wouldn't ask you to do that, Sienna."

She faced the rising sun. "It's a beautiful morning, you know that?" She blinked back tears. She would not cry. She would not scream. No matter how much she wanted to do both.

She felt the cold steel of the sword against the back of her neck. "I suppose it's overly dramatic," Adam said, "but do you have any last words?"

" _Apres moi le deluge,_ " Sienna answered after a time. "And don't make a hack job of it, Adam. I'd prefer not to suffer."

"Certainly. Goodbye, Sienna."

Adam kept his word. The sword cut was clean. Sienna Khan died instantly, a faint smile on her face. Blood poured into the sea, staining the sand red; her body spasmed twice and was still. Adam washed the blade in the surf and replaced it in its scabbard. He turned to the White Fang. "Give our leader a proper burial. Our official statement was that Sienna was murdered by a human assassin. She will become a martyr for our cause—her final act as High Leader."

"All hail High Leader Adam Taurus!" the wolf Faunus shouted, and the White Fang answered with a cheer of affirmation.

Adam bowed to them. "I will do my best to serve you, White Fang. My first act as High Leader is to tell you to prepare to move—to Haven. We leave tonight. That puts us on the ground by tomorrow morning. It will be a long flight, but we will make it."

"That doesn't give us much time," another Faunus said.

"I know. It will be difficult, but the traitor Ilia has undoubtedly told the humans that we will attack in two or three days. Imagine the humans surprise when we launch the assault tomorrow afternoon!" He clapped his gloved hands together. "Now let's move! We will strike first, fast, and hard!" Another cheer erupted from the White Fang, and they began running back towards the hangars. Four—including Sienna's former bodyguards—detached themselves from the crowd, and took Sienna's body and head to be washed and buried. Adam watched, and noticed Hazel had joined him. "You may tell your mistress that the attack on Haven will proceed as planned. The attack will not be on Matsushima or Atsugi. It will be at Ashiya."

"Close enough to major population centers to make a statement, but far enough that a JASDF counterattack will not devastate you," Hazel observed. "A good plan."

"And close enough to cover your true objective," Adam smiled. Hazel stared at him, and Adam laughed. "Our former Sister Ilia informed me that there is something on Tsushima that you want. She didn't know what it was, and I don't care. I imagine she was instructed to leak that to me so I would ask you, and inadvertently inform her of the real objective of Salem's attack." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. We get what we want, and Salem gets what she wants. Your mistress was concerned about Sienna's willingness to cooperate. Now she doesn't need to be."

"A bad business," Hazel said, watching Sienna's body carried off.

"This was my business, not yours." There was enough steel in Adam's voice to warn Hazel. Then his voice softened a little. "Do you speak French, Hazel?"

"I do."

"I'm afraid I never learned the language. It's rather odd, I admit…I was born in the United States, I've lived much of my life in Europe, and I've studied in Japan. I speak fluent Japanese, and passable German, and even a smattering of Russian. But I've never learned French." He looked at Hazel. "Do you know what Sienna said, before she died?"

Hazel smiled, but there was no humor in the smile. " _Apres moi le deluge._ It was reportedly the last words of Louis XVI, the French king executed at the beginning of the French Revolution. He too was beheaded." He shook his head, still smiling. "It means 'after me, the flood.'"

"Flood?"

"Prophetic words, Adam," Hazel answered. "After Louis was executed, it unleashed the Reign of Terror….and the people that executed the king themselves died in the same fashion."

* * *

_Naval Air Station Atsugi_

_Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan_

_20 June 2001_

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Qrow Branwen grinned.

"We meet again, at the turn of the tide," Rissa Arashikaze smiled back.

"Okay, Gandalf." Qrow took a pull at his flask. He leaned against the desk in the ready room Reaper Flight—now split into Ruby Flight and Norn Flight—had been using. It was as secure a place as any. The diminutive CIA director sat in one of the seats. The dark circles under her eyes betrayed she hadn't slept well in awhile; she cradled a cup of coffee in her hands. "Thing is, I don't exactly see the turn of the tide here. Things aren't good."

"It could be worse. The White Fang's attempt to kill the Belladonnas and end any chance of the Faunus of Menagerie coming to assist Japan backfired badly. From what Ilia Amitola has told me, over five hundred Faunus have signed on to help. They'll be arriving in Japan tomorrow night." She took a drink of the coffee. "It will be rough losing my only asset inside the White Fang, but better that than lose Ilia."

"The Faunus will be a big help," Qrow said, "but we've still got the fact that we've lost almost thirty Huntsmen and Huntresses. We're not helpless or anything, but that's not a good situation." He paused. "Especially given who ordered those thirty out."

"Yes, I know." Arashikaze finished her coffee. "I'm working on that." She sighed. "Major Branwen…I know it should be Ozpin sitting here giving these orders, and giving out sage wisdom. Not me. I can't replace that man." She laughed softly. "I'm already missing my cushy desk job back at Greenbrier. I haven't been field personnel in a long time."

"Why not send out agents?"

"Three reasons." Arashikaze ticked off the points on her fingers. "One, you won't trust strangers. You barely trust me. Two, I can't be completely sure Salem hasn't infiltrated the CIA. The problem with being a spy: you see shadows everywhere. And three, the CIA has always been something of a sieve. There's always leaks. With Ironwood ramming Reforger down the EU's throat and the rest of the world wondering just how many orbital weapons the United States has, our reputation isn't the best on the planet right now. The last thing we need is a leak that our supposedly elite pilots have either died, disappeared, or been transferred away from the next hotspot. Or worse, the press gets word about Salem." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Worldwide panic is not something we need either."

Qrow's reply was interrupted by a ring from his phone. He got it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Qrow, talk to me." He nodded his way through the conversation. "Yeah. You're sure? Okay…you passing this on to the JASDF? Great…yeah, we'll be up. I'll have them sitting ramp alert. You just give us the word." He was quiet for a moment. "Quick question: how did you get this info?" Qrow went silent again. "Yeah…yeah, that sounds legit. Okay. Thanks, Leo. Much appreciated." A last pause, and then a derisive laugh from Qrow. "Yeah, I wish you were going up with us too. Talk at you later." He flipped the phone shut. "Speak of the devil," he told Arashikaze. "That was Leo Lionheart. He says he's got actionable intelligence of a large GRIMM raid over the Sea of Japan tomorrow. He wants us to be ready to scramble in the morning."

Arashikaze considered that. "Where did he get this intel?"

"Contact in the Malachite Gang."

"Interesting. The Malachites do have contacts in Siberia. That's almost plausible… _if_ we didn't know who Leo is actually working for." She nodded, half to herself. "The GRIMM raid is cover. The real attack will come at Tsushima. The question is, who will carry it out?"

"You think the White Fang will attack too?" Qrow asked.

"Not likely. Right now Sienna Khan is running for her life. The last thing on her mind is going through with an attack on 'Haven.'"

Qrow nodded as well. "Maybe Cinder Fall's bunch, if she's still alive. Maybe even my sister, though Salem would really have to pony up something to get her out of California. You think it's a trap?"

"Yes," Arashikaze answered simply.

"Me too," Qrow sighed. "Me too."

* * *

_Misawa Air Base_

_Aomori Prefecture, Japan_

_20 June 2001_

Leonardo Lionheart stared at his office phone, lost in thought until Raven Branwen, sitting in a chair across his office, broke into them. "You know, I have some questions for you."

"You're not alone in that," Lionheart replied.

She got up and walked over to his desk, leaning against it. Raven was dressed casually, and the skirt she wore ended well above her knees. "I never expected you would be the one to betray Oz. So I have to wonder…what does Salem have on you?"

"I'm helping her for the same reason you are," Lionheart snapped back. "I'm afraid. We can't stop Salem. No one can."

Raven nodded. "That's why I left Strike Flight when I did. I'm not afraid; I'm smart."

"Call it whatever you want. It doesn't really matter. We're both here, helping her." He put his face in his hands. "We've crossed a line. I've done things…things that Ozpin would never forgive. Things that _I_ will never forgive. I don't know where I go from here, Raven. I have nothing left."

To her mild surprise, Raven found herself feeling sorry for the old Faunus. He'd married late in life, and Raven remembered his wife well. Dorothy Lionheart had been a lot like Summer Rose. Of course, Summer at least had died where her family could not see her; Dorothy had crashed at an airshow, right in front of her husband and toddler daughter. It had broken him. She reached across and took one of his hands. "You did what you had to survive," Raven said gently. "There's no shame in that."

Lionheart looked up at her, and Raven withdrew her hand: behind the eyes, there was a fire, one she hadn't expected to see. "Who are you trying to convince, Raven—me or yourself?"

Raven stared back at him in shock for a moment, then scowled. "That's what I get for showing sympathy. Fuck you, Leo." She turned and stormed out of the office, before Lionheart realized just how hard those words had struck home.

Lionheart waited until the slam of the door finished reverberating through the office. Then he slowly got up from his chair and opened the door to the side office. A quick look showed no one there. He went in, checked the bathroom, then sat on the toilet and closed the door. It was as secure as he was going to get.

He opened his cell phone.

* * *

"Self-righteous old prick." Raven was still grumbling to herself. The base was quiet; it was after five o'clock, and the sun was going down. One shift was getting off and going to look for something to eat; the other had just started. Other than to admire her legs, no one paid any mind to her.

There were loudspeakers mounted around the base, and they crackled. Raven instantly stopped out of nothing more than instinct. The crackle was replaced by a tinny recording of bugles playing Retreat. Remembering, she turned in the direction of where she thought the flag was and came to attention. Raven noticed two airmen running for the library doors, so they would not have to stand outside. "Hold it!" Raven shouted. Her voice, used to command, was obeyed. "You stand for your anthem, you fucking idiots!" Both airmen came to attention, not sure why they were listening to a civilian, but assuming that, by the tone of her voice, she must outrank them. Raven was oddly glad of their presence; it gave her something to take out her temper on.

The Star Spangled Banner came on a moment later; she was sure that the USAF had a standard issue recording of it, since it was the same she had heard at every base in her career. Raven brought up her hand and executed a perfect salute. It had been years, decades since she'd last done this. Part of it was to maintain her cover; part of it was simple memory. With a start, Raven realized the last time she had stood at attention like this was at Summer's funeral.

She held the salute until the last notes died away. The two airmen, with one last fearful glance at her, retreated into the library. Raven turned and, to her surprise, Vernal was standing a few paces behind her, bringing her hand off of her heart. She quirked a smile at Raven. "I can't believe I remembered that! I haven't stood for the anthem since I was little. Hell, I haven't even _heard_ the anthem since I was little."

"Mm," Raven grumbled. She began walking again, and Vernal hurried to catch up. "What did Lionheart say?" she asked.

"He informed Qrow and his little helpers that tomorrow's the big day. He'll scramble Reaper or Ruby or whatever they're calling themselves in the morning. We'll nail them over the Sea of Japan."

"I guess that sounds okay. What about the other bunch?"

"Cinder? She'll rendezvous with us at the appointed time tomorrow afternoon. The White Fang will hit Ashiya first—Leo got the call right after I got there. They'll be coming in on a charter flight. They'll have to pour on the coal to make it, but that nutcase Adam Taurus is leading them now. He'll get them there." She kept her voice low, but no one noticed them.

Vernal nodded, and rubbed her wrist, where the Maiden controller was. "I wish I felt better about this."

"I'm not crazy about it myself," Raven admitted. "Mainly because Salem is going to betray us the first chance she gets. I imagine Cinder has orders to kill us as soon as we open up JINN for her."

Vernal missed a step. "Then why the hell are we helping her?"

Raven sniffed a laugh. "Because we're going to betray her first, Vernal. The moment you get that vault open on Tsushima, I'm going to put three feet of cold steel through Cinder's back. And then I'm going to take JINN for the tribe." She put an arm around Vernal. "And then Salem is going to have to do more than just stop threatening us…unless she wants the whole fucking world to know about her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of hate to kill Sienna off; I've grown strangely fond of her. Still, I hope I gave her a good sendoff, even if she is, at heart, a fanatic. 
> 
> The incident with Raven and the flag ceremony is actually based on something I saw my dad do during his time in the USAF.


	37. Freefall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of Haven begins as Ruby and Norn Flights meet Cinder's squadron, in a rematch of Beacon...winner take all. 
> 
> And then there's the White Fang...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to what I think is the longest chapter I've written in nearly a year. The "Battle of Haven" is too huge for one chapter-this one's already long enough!-so it will be split into at least two chapters. Now get ready for a big dogfight!
> 
> Incidentally, I did a slight retcon. In an earlier chapter, I inferred that Emerald is flying a modified Mirage III. Then I realized that even a modified Mirage III is not going to last long against a F-16, so I retconned Emerald back into her trusty Mirage F.1 (a new one, since Coco Adel is currently flying her old one somewhere in North Africa). Mirage F.1s are fairly common, so it wouldn't be hard for Salem to get another one for Em.
> 
> So far, this has also been one of the toughest air battles to write. Most dogfights are over in ten seconds or less, but this one has to stretch. Luckily, everyone on both sides is that good, and almost all of them went to Vytal Flag, so it's very much a contest of equals.

_Naval Air Station Atsugi_

_Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Oscar Pine leaned against the ladder of the F/A-18. Beneath the aircraft, in the shade from the sticky afternoon heat of a Japanese summer, the ground crew lounged. He pushed off the ladder and began to pace again.

Lie Ren had been watching him, and finally walked from his J-10 to the ensign's side. "Are you all right?"

"Oh yeah," Oscar replied. "I got two hours of sleep last night, drank like six cups of coffee, had to pee like twenty times, and I'm scared shitless."

Ren smiled. "At least you admit it."

"This is real world, right?" Oscar asked. "We're really fighting today?"

"More than likely."

"Oh shit." Oscar ran his gloved hands over his hair, making it more unruly than usual. "I'm not ready, Ren. Not even close."

"No one is. Just remember your training. Stay with Pyrrha; she's a good wingperson. Cover her tail, and watch your own. She's not greedy, either; she'll let you get kills. If we engage GRIMM, just remember that they are not sentient. They can only do what they're programmed to do. Remember that."

"And what happens if we engage people?'

"Believe you can beat anyone in the world." Ren patted the Hornet's wing. "You have an excellent airplane, serviced by an exceptional crew, and you are a naval aviator. All of that counts for something."

"I'm a noob," Oscar sighed.

"None of us were born in the cockpit." He nodded towards Ruby Rose's red-trimmed F-16. Like the rest of the newly-reformed Ruby Flight, they were just off the runway, ready to scramble. Ren could see Ruby sitting in her cockpit, the canopy open to let fresh air in, drumming her fingers on the canopy rim. The rest of them were on five minute standby. "Ruby had her first engagement less than four months ago."

Oscar's mouth fell open. "You're kidding! She's got eleven kills!"

"She is a very fast learner." Ren patted him on the back. "You'll be fine, Oscar. Besides, you have good genes." He walked back to the J-10.

Oscar sighed again, then decided to do another walkaround, mainly to keep his mind off the very real possibility that he would be dead by nightfall. His Hornet still didn't have any personal symbols on it; he couldn't think of anything. But it was loaded for GRIMM: three external tanks for fuel, four AIM-120 AMRAAMs slung underneath the wings and conformally beneath the fuselage, and four AIM-9L Sidewinders beneath the wings and on the wingtips. There was the gun atop the nose as well. It would be a bit sluggish with three "bags" of fuel, but once in combat, he'd dump those. The Bug-which was what true naval aviators called the Hornet, Oscar reminded himself—was every bit as maneuverable as the F-16. Oscar began to feel better.

Until the scramble klaxon went off.

Oscar nearly wet himself on the spot, but to his surprise, his legs were moving before his brain engaged. He ducked under the nose and was racing up the ladder before he was even quite aware of what was happening. He dropped into the ejection seat as he put his helmet on; right behind him was the plane captain, hands scrambling to fasten him into the seat. Out of the corner of one eye, Oscar saw Ruby's canopy drop down and her engine run up to power with a roar. Oscar quickly hooked up the oxygen feed, the radio cord, and the spurs on the legs of his flight suits to the seat, to keep his legs from flailing around if he ejected. The plane captain tightened the straps, unsafetied the ejection seat, slapped Oscar on the helmet, and slid down the ladder. It was removed as Oscar lowered the canopy. It shut and locked with a hiss. His navigation system was already set, and after a quick check that the ground crew was clear, he moved up the throttle and followed the plane captain's hand signals. Oscar returned the latter's salute and followed Pyrrha's F-22 onto the taxiway.

He switched on his radio in time to hear Ruby Flight cleared to take off. Purple shock diamonds, visible in broad daylight, appeared behind the Viper's engine as it opened to full power; Ruby let off the brakes and it roared down the runway. Next to it, on the parallel runway, Yang's F-23 took off as well, a fraction faster than the F-16, as it was a cleaner design. Seconds later, Weiss' F-20 and Qrow's newly repaired F-117 followed them.

Now it was Norn Flight's turn. "Norn Flight, requesting clearance," Pyrrha radioed the tower. "Combat departure."

"Norn Flight, Atsugi," the tower controller replied. "You are cleared for takeoff. Winds are steady from the east at five knots, ceiling is scattered to broken, visibility ten miles. Airspace is clear. Pyrrha is on 23 Left, Oscar on 23 Right. Good luck, Norns."

Oscar tried to control his breathing as he swung the nose down the centerline of the runway. He kept his feet on the brakes as he ran the throttle to the stops. The Hornet's nose dipped slightly, and he could feel the vibration of the twin turbofans behind him. _Here we go, here we go,_ he thought, his heart pounding. _This is it, this is for real—_

Then he saw Pyrrha's F-22 move forward, and let off the brakes. The F-18 hesitated for a half-second and then was rolling down the runway, the markings becoming blurs beneath him. He checked his flap settings—Atsugi was low and hot, so it would take a bit more lift to get into the air—and then raised the nose. The Hornet came up smoothly off the runway with a little buffeting. Once he was sure it was going to keep flying, he cycled the landing gear up, and the buffeting ended. A quick check of the instrument panel, and he began to slide into the wingman's spot on the F-22's right wing.

"Oscar, expanded box." Pyrrha's voice was clipped, neither friendly nor angry. He cursed himself: they weren't practicing or flying across country, so he extended outwards, enough to cover Pyrrha but not as close. It was a more efficient, fluid formation for air combat. They passed through a cloud or two, then he followed her into the turn west. A quick glance behind and down, and Oscar saw Ren's J-10 and Nora's A-10 below them. "Ruby, Norn. We're up."

"Roger, Norn," Ruby's voice came back. "We're at your eleven high." Oscar looked in that direction, and saw the four aircraft. It was an odd formation to be sure: the small F-16, even smaller F-20, the surprisingly large F-117, and the rather large F-23.

"Joining on your right."

"Ruby, Norn, this is Catseye." The voice spoke in English, but had a Japanese accent. Oscar quickly glanced at the list of radio callsigns in one of his clear knee pockets. Catseye was the JASDF's E-767 AWACS, orbiting northwest of Tokyo. "A large number of GRIMM have been spotted northwest of Hokkaido, heading 190. Raid count is approximately one zero zero. All squadrons in Northern Command have scrambled." _100,_ Oscar thought with an icy feeling of fear in his gut. A swarm of GRIMM.

"Roger, Catseye." Oscar noticed that Ruby held course.

"Five minutes ago, we detected another group of bogeys over the Sea of Japan, heading 150, angels 18. Raid count on this group is 15. Classify this as a mixed group of GRIMM and manned aircraft by behavior and formation. Catseye has been instructed to scramble you on this group, designated Raid-3. Your signal is Shimmer, repeat, Shimmer."

_Shimmer._ Oscar remembered the morning briefing. The mixed group was almost certainly this Cinder Fall character he'd heard about, and their target was JINN—whatever that was.

"Shimmer—understood, Catseye. Those are bandits. Interrogative: status of Raid-2?"

"Raid-2 is proceeding as planned. Raid count of Raid-2 is two aircraft—two transports. Target is Ashiya."

_Just like they told us this morning._ Oscar blew out a breath. _Well, that's someone else's problem._

"Understood, Catseye. Will provide assistance as needed, but Raid-3 is our primary."

"Roger, Ruby. Vector for bandit is 090, range 120. Raid-3 course still 150, speed 500. Cannot identify craft at this time. You are clear to intercept; time is 1805 local, 0405 Zulu. Catseye listening, out."

"Thanks, Catseye. Break." Ruby's voice seemed completely different, Oscar thought. There was still the slight squeakiness that he thought was kind of cute, but she was now strictly professional. _She's only been at this for four months?_ he wondered to himself. "Ruby, Norns, push it up! Let's catch Raid-3 over the sea. Keep your bags as long as you can."

The eight aircraft turned west and accelerated.

* * *

_Misawa Air Base_

_Aomori Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Leonardo Lionheart turned down the volume on the radio set and leaned back in his chair, his stomach doing its best impression of a rollercoaster. He was playing an even more dangerous game now. He was tempted to get up and make sure Arthur Watts or Raven Branwen wasn't hiding somewhere, but Watts was at the observatory, waiting for Cinder's transmission from Tsushima, while Raven was in the air. He was alone. More alone than he'd ever felt.

_I'm sorry, Dorothy. I'm sorry, Ruth,_ he said to himself. _I should have never done this._

The door to the office suddenly opened, and Lionheart nearly jumped out of his chair. The building was supposed to be deserted, his secretary transferred to more important duties, the rest of the base busy with the incoming strike on Hokkaido to the north. He froze, unsure of what to do, but then he saw who it was, and recognized her, although it had been years since they had last met.

"Arashikaze?" he said in amazement. "Rissa Arashikaze?"

She nodded. "I thought you might want some company." She was dressed casually in shirt and shorts, her long black hair combed out, her hands behind her back.

"You can't be here," he told her. "If they find out…"

"They won't."

"If Watts comes back—"

Arashikaze pulled her hands from behind her back. One held a M1911 .45 with an ivory grip. "Then I'll kill him. But I doubt I'll have the opportunity." She settled into the chair across from his desk, the pistol held comfortably in her lap, pointed at him. "I do appreciate the phone call yesterday, Leo. How did you know it was Ashiya?"

Leo chuckled softly. "Watts kept me in the loop. Apparently the White Fang—Adam Taurus' bunch now—let Salem know yesterday afternoon, shortly before Raven Branwen arrived, and Watts was nice enough to let me know…so I would steer Ruby and Norn Flights in the right direction." He nodded towards the sky. "They're not exactly flying into a trap, but the odds will be even. Cinder would very much like to kill Ruby Rose, I understand, and Raven told me her desire to murder her own brother."

"We'll have to leave that to Qrow and the others. Ashiya's been solved. Of course, there is the little matter that you sent most of the JASDF in the wrong direction," Rissa reminded him.

"The GRIMM attack is real," Lionheart told her.

"No doubt. But if we had, say, 30 Huntsmen and Huntresses, we could stop the attack on Tsushima and JINN before it even got started."

Lionheart looked down. "What I did was wrong, Rissa. I think—I thought—Salem's victory was inevitable. I was so tired of it all, especially after Dorothy…and then they killed Ruth." He let out a long, sad sigh. "By that time I was in too deep. The best I could do was pass on what information I could to you. But if Salem knew I'd turned on her—"

"Yes, indeed," Rissa agreed. "Of course, you'd already turned on Ozpin. By all rights, he should be here." She crossed her legs; the pistol muzzle did not waver. "Oz was the forgiving type, Leo. He'd probably say he understood the circumstances, and would say it was all right, then ask me to sweep it under the rug."

"But Ozpin's dead," Leo sighed. "And you're not the forgiving type. You never were."

"Indeed so." She motioned with her head towards the radio set on his desk. "Why don't you turn up the radio? Let's listen to the score."

Lionheart reached forward and paused. "What will happen to me?"

"Turn it up, please," she said.

* * *

_Over the Sea of Japan_

_Near Nishinoshima, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

"Oscar, Pyrrha." Oscar gave a start. For the past fifteen minutes as they'd raced west—limited in speed so as not to leave Nora behind—it had been quiet as they'd observed radio silence. "Is your nose cold?"

"Roger that." Oscar's radar was off.

"I'm eyeball," Pyrrha told her. He clicked the mike twice in response, and couldn't help but smile. Pyrrha would use the F-22's superior radar suite to pick targets for him; any enemy would detect her radar, but the Raptor's stealthy design might make it hard to lock on to return fire. Meanwhile, he would be the shooter, ready to fire on any targets she might paint for him.

Oscar tried to relax again; it would still be a few more minutes before the bandits were in range for even a long-range AMRAAM shot. He kept his head moving, however, quartering the sky around them. Visibility could be better: there were broken clouds below and above, with the sun alternately bright against blue sky and hidden behind puffy cumulus.

Yang's voice suddenly blasted through his helmet. " _Bandit, three o'clock high!"_

Oscar's head instantly swiveled in that direction. He saw nothing but clouds, but then he saw Qrow's F-117, which was ahead and above, go into a hard turn and fire a missile. "Qrow, Fox Three!" The AMRAAM was a glowing dot that disappeared into the clouds. Oscar thought he saw a muffled orange flash a second later.

"God, that was horrible." The voice was female, and mocking. "Qrow, if you're going to shoot me, make sure you're not within minimum range. That didn't even come close. Of course, it probably had trouble locking on."

Oscar saw something, just for a moment: high, between clouds, at the one o'clock position. "Raven!" Qrow yelled. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Raven's voice came back. "You've been up to no good, little brother. Planning to attack your own sister."

"Norn Flight, noses cold," Pyrrha snapped. Oscar's hand had been reaching forward to switch on his radar, to try and pick up whoever was taunting them. Then he realized that whoever this Raven was, she might be a stalking horse to see just what Ruby and Norn Flights were bringing to the game.

"No one's attacking anything but Salem's bunch," Qrow snarled at his sister. "And here you are throwing in with them!"

"I told you, Qrow—I will do anything to ensure our tribe's survival. Salem made a good offer. You never tried."

"You've got the Spring Maiden," Qrow growled.

"Yes," Raven confirmed. "Good thing we're on a secure frequency, though. We wouldn't want _that_ to get out."

"We don't have to do this," Qrow said. "Work with us, Raven! Together we can beat her!"

"All that time spying for Ozpin and you _still_ don't know what you're dealing with," Raven replied. Oscar saw the same object again, black and malevolent, flitting in and out of the clouds. "There's no beating Salem." Her voice lost its mocking tone; now it sounded almost resigned and exhausted.

"Raven, this is Ruby Rose!" Oscar was surprised to hear from Ruby all of a sudden. "Listen to me! We've already done the impossible, several times, and we only did it because we worked together! We had people to help us, and to teach us, and we've got each other! Work with us, Raven. We'll have a better chance if we stick together. It's what Mom would've wanted! She wouldn't have wanted you doing this, Raven!"

The radio channel was silent for a long moment. "You sound just _like_ your mother," Raven said sadly. "Because of her, Ruby, I'm giving you one last chance. RTB. Clear out."

It was Yang that spoke. "Fuck you, Raven."

"Very well," Raven sighed.

Suddenly Oscar's Radar Warning Receiver lit up. "Missile inbound!" he yelled, then added, "Threat front!"

"I'm spiked!" Ruby screamed. The F-16 rolled and dived, flares and chaff dropping behind it. Oscar's mouth went dry as he saw a missile emerge from a cloud and dive after her. Ruby came out of the dive and went into a punishing turn; all three fuel tanks flew off the wings and centerline as she desperately tried for more speed. The missile finally lost lock and chased a chaff cloud into oblivion.

"Cinder to the veterans of Beacon." The voice dripped sarcasm. "Hello, boys and girls. Did you miss me?"

"Weiss, tally-ho!" Weiss called out. "Bandits, twelve o'clock level."

Oscar spotted the specks in the distance moments later, but his acknowledgement that he saw them as well was drowned out by an inarticulate scream of pure rage. To his shock, Pyrrha's F-22 suddenly shot forward, her tanks punched off the wings, as she threw herself at the enemy formation.

* * *

_Ashiya Airbase_

_Fukuoka Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Adam Taurus emerged out of the C-141 Starlifter's paratroop door, hopped to the tarmac, and took a breath of the humid air. It felt good; the area around Lossiemouth had been cold, and the interior of the C-141 was no better. He was tired but elated. Across the tarmac was a Boeing 707, the other aircraft the White Fang had chartered for the assault. Both were owned by a Faunus transport firm that did not ask a lot of questions; Adam, for his part, didn't ask where the firm had gotten an ex-USAF transport from.

A redhaired Faunus with short horns ran up to him. "High Leader," she reported breathlessly. "Both strike teams have landed successfully. Your orders?"

"Execute the operation," Adam said. Deery saluted and ran off, yelling orders. Adam watched as the White Fang on the 707 quickly disembarked down ropes dangling from the exit doors, unslung their weapons, and began fanning out. Every fourth soldier carried an assault rifle; each team was followed by a weapons section with a light machine gun and four RPGs. Most were armed with submachine guns. None of the platoons were uniform with their weapons; the White Fang had to be content with whatever they could obtain on the open market, or steal.

Each team had been briefed on the long flight from Menagerie, over the Russian Dead Zones, then over China, disguised as charter cargo flights: they would seize the control tower and all entrances leading away from the airfield itself. Once that was secure, teams would then go into the base itself and destroy the powerplant and telephone exchange, as well as take hostages. By that time, Adam expected that the Japanese Ground Self-Defense Force would attack, and he would fall back to the main perimeter and stop the attacks cold. He intended to hold Ashiya for about six hours—long enough for Japan and the world to get the message that the White Fang were far from dead, and long enough for Cinder's team to secure her objective. Once that was accomplished, the White Fang would load themselves back into the 707 and the C-141, with their hostages, and fly to Vladivostok, held by the Malachite Gang and escorted by Cinder's team. The JASDF would not attack with hostages at stake, and in any case would still have their hands full with GRIMM attacks at Hokkaido.

It was a good plan, but like all good plans, it had to work.

Adam walked around the C-141. A team of White Fang soldiers, dressed in coveralls rather than their black combat uniforms, were pulling out Moonslice. As much as Adam had wanted to fly the whole way, the fighter simply didn't have the range, and this was the easiest way. Luckily, the Moonslice had been designed with this in mind: the wings were folded over the top of the fuselage, like a carrier aircraft. It traveled fully fueled, Adam risking the danger of fire over the danger of taking too long to refuel on the ground. Other Fang troops were hauling out boxes of missiles. One nodded at Adam. "We should have her ready to go in about 20 minutes, High Leader."

"Good. Shave that time down, chief," Adam told him. "I need to get in the air and have a look around." The chief saluted and started yelling at his group to go faster.

Adam moved away from the C-141 for a short distance, out of the shadow of the tail. In the early evening sunlight, the tarmac shimmered with heat, and he felt himself beginning to sweat. The tarmac was empty, which was a bit of a disappointment: he'd brought along several of the surviving White Fang pilots, in the hopes that they might capture a JASDF fighter or two. There were none, but that wasn't too surprising, as Ashiya was a training base. There were only two squadrons of T-4 trainers based here, and the T-4s weren't normally armed. He looked across the runway, his mask shading his eye, and he squinted. Normally the two squadrons had their trainers lined up on the hardstands across the runway, but they were empty.

_Empty?_ he thought. _It's like they evacuated the base. But how could they do that…unless…_ Adam felt an unfamiliar emotion: fear.

_Unless they knew we were coming._

He dashed back to the C-141. "Radioman!" A Faunus with a backpack radio ran up to him. Adam grabbed the radio off the pack, and shouted at the chief. "I need that ready _yesterday,_ chief!"

* * *

_Over the Sea of Japan_

Cinder saw the F-22 getting steadily larger. "Nikos," she said aloud. She'd actually sort of forgotten that Pyrrha was still alive. She'd also forgotten that she'd been the one to kill Jaune Arc, but it seemed that Pyrrha was bent on reminding her. Cinder threw the Su-27 into a flurry of defensive maneuvers, dropping flares and chaff behind her, but Pyrrha made no move to fire any missiles. _She's lost her temper,_ Cinder observed. _She's going to kill me with her guns_. There was a brief pang of fear—after all, she'd come within a hairsbreadth of being killed by Pyrrha Nikos over Beacon—but Cinder fought it down. She was the best, and now it was the time to prove it.

They passed canopy to canopy, and both women immediately pulled into turns. Pyrrha, through a red haze of hatred, was flying by instinct, and her fingers automatically used the Raptor's thrust vectoring to cheat the turn tighter. She didn't notice that Cinder's fighter was doing exactly the same thing.

* * *

Ruby did, and Ruby could also tell that Pyrrha had lost control of herself. She pushed up the throttle and climbed, rolling over the top to try and get in a shot on Cinder. "Pyrrha, Ruby! I'm on my way!"

Her RWR shrilled for her attention, and for the second time in less than thirty seconds, Ruby found herself dodging another missile. Luckily, the Sidewinder was easily decoyed away by a flare, but as Ruby rolled out, she saw a Mirage F.1 fly past, the wings marked with the personal emblem of Emerald Sustrai.

"You're not going anywhere _near_ her," Emerald radioed.

* * *

Yang had lost sight of Ruby in her climb and in the sun, but she spotted an A-4 splitting wide of the Mirage. _I have a bad feeling I know who that is,_ she thought. It was confirmed a second later. "Hey, Blondie—it's Mercury. Remember me? I owe you for shooting me down."

"In that toy?" Yang turned towards him. "You couldn't beat me before, Merc, and you were in a '16. Let's see what you got."

* * *

Raven rolled the Night Raven upside down. The dogfight was degenerating into individual contests, which didn't surprise her: this was a unique fight, where everyone on both sides knew each other, and nursed personal grudges. She'd been surprised the Invincible Girl of Greece had thrown herself at Cinder, but that was fine—Raven considered it a win if they both died.

She saw a F-18 heading to the south, skirting in and out of clouds. _I wonder who that is?_ Nobody she'd known of in either flight flew a Hornet. In any case, they were running out of the fight, so they were no threat for now. She saw Qrow's F-117 climbing to meet her, and smiled. Far below, flanked by GRIMM, was Hazel's aircraft, and the J-10 and A-10 were going for him. That left one person without a dance partner. "Vernal," she said, "take the Schnee girl. She's in the F-20."

"Roger." Raven caught herself wishing she could watch that fight—Vernal was flying a F-5, but an upgraded one. It would largely be an even match.

At the moment, however, she had more pressing matters. She dived on her brother. The distance closed rapidly, and Raven fired off a few probing shots from the twin 20 millimeter cannon slung beneath the fuselage. She dodged as Qrow fired back; she'd forgotten his Nighthawk had been modified. They passed each other, but Raven continued her dive, picking up energy; she could not allow herself to be pulled into a turning fight with the F-117, as the Night Raven was not really a dogfighter. Nor did it have the best rearward vision: she looked down at one of her multifunction displays, which displayed the view behind her, and saw Qrow entering an orbit, waiting for her to start her climb. "Sorry, brother," she sent. "Sometimes family disappoints you."

"We're not family anymore," Qrow growled.

"Were we ever?" Raven returned, and hauled back on the stick. She rammed the throttle forward, and the Night Raven quickly passed through Mach 1 as it aimed for the sky.

* * *

"Hey there, Schnee," Vernal radioed. "Long time no see."

"Nothing personal, Vernal," Weiss replied, and began setting up for a Sidewinder shot.

"None taken. Let's see what that Schnee name really means."

"I'm more than a name." Weiss fired. The Sidewinder shot off the right wingtip, homing on the heat given off by Vernal's canopy. She then acclerated, closing into gun range if the missile missed—which it did, as the F-5 suddenly went into a split-S. Weiss followed as her missile doggedly chased a flare.

* * *

Ren and Nora were far below the dogfight. Unlike the rest of their friends, they'd stayed together in a mutually supporting pair, not allowing themselves to be drawn apart. The problem was, it looked like they were about to have no choice. "Nora, Ren," he said, "five Beowolves, eleven o'clock low. They're climbing."

"Take 'em, Ren!" Nora yelled. "I got…whatever the hell that is." Nora spared Ren a brief glance as he peeled off to attack the GRIMM, then returned her attention to the drab painted aircraft. The nose looked a bit like her own A-10, complete with bubble canopy, and it was straight-winged like the Warthog, but the engines were buried in the wingroots, and it had a single tail. _An A-37?_ she thought. _No, by golly, that's a damn A-9! Holy shit, I didn't know there were any left!_ She remembered reading about the Northrop A-9, the failed competitor to the A-10. She thought the few prototypes built had been scrapped, but apparently not. The two aircraft were built to the same specifications, and both had 30 millimeter cannons.

"This is going to be interesting," she mused.

* * *

Contrary to Raven's belief, Oscar was not running away. In fact, he was doing something very sensible, considering he was terrified.

Pyrrha had completely forgotten about him in her singleminded rage to kill Cinder Fall, and in the merge, he'd quickly gotten confused as to who he was supposed to support. Then he spotted five GRIMM low against the water, stealthfully positioning themselves to drop in behind Ruby Flight. He dumped his drop tanks and headed in that direction, putting himself in a shallow climb. He hoped no one thought he was a coward, but he remembered one of his flight instructors at Pensacola, a tough old former Skyhawk pilot with a shaved head and a voice that sounded like he gargled with drain cleanser. _It's better to retire and save your aircraft than push a bad position._ Well, he wasn't retiring, but he _was_ getting into a better position.

_Heh. If Dad could see me now,_ Oscar thought, and just like that, he wasn't scared anymore. He'd read about Oscar Ozpin, and it occurred to Oscar Pine that this situation wasn't all that different than what his father had faced over Norway—though these GRIMM were Beowolves and not Nevermore, and he was flying a F-18, not an old F-8. Oscar cracked his neck, determined to make the father he'd never met proud.

Oscar positioned himself upsun, rolled, and dropped in behind the GRIMM. The five drones began a gentle turn, and the leftmost one lagged slightly behind the others. Oscar remembered something else, this time what Ruby had said: _when you're gunning someone, and you think you're close—get closer._ He throttled back and closed the range, thinking that if his butt tightened up any more, his anus was going to start biting at the ejection seat.

Suddenly, the Beowolves began to split up: they'd finally detected him. He stayed on the one he'd been pursuing and opened fire with the gun. The M61 Vulcan made a sound like ripping paper and Oscar was blinded for a second by the gun gas going back into his windscreen. Then it cleared, and the GRIMM's starboard wing was a mass of flames. It slewed in midair, the wing separated from the aircraft, and the drone spun down towards the ocean. Oscar broke away, found another Beowulf trying to get in behind him, quickly selected a Sidewinder, and fired. The Beowulf turned into a comet, and headed down to join the other one in a terminal dive for the water.

Oscar glanced behind him as the RWR warbled, and between the canted twin tails of his Hornet was yet another Beowulf. Cannon shells spun over his head in little fireballs, and he flung the F-18 away from the Beowulf in a hard climb. Another GRIMM flew right in front of him. Oscar couldn't help but scream, and reflexively pulled the trigger. Another Sidewinder flew off the left wingtip and blew the Beowulf to pieces; somehow, he dodged the fireball, though he felt something hit the F-18. No warning lights came on, and he continued his climb.

"Oscar, splash three!" he called out jubliantly. _This isn't too bad,_ he thought happily. He rolled out, but then saw the other two Beowolves coming after him. He didn't think GRIMM could be angry, but these two looked it.

* * *

In retrospect, Weiss Schnee thought to herself, she should have realized Vernal would be a good pilot. After all, she was Raven's second in command. Weiss also made a mental note that she really should stop engaging F-5s, since this was the second time in her life one was doing its best to kill her.

For the third time, Weiss dodged away from Vernal's cannon fire. The F-20 had the older F-5 in acceleration, the Tiger II was slightly more maneuverable. _Quit fighting the way she fights,_ Weiss told herself. It didn't help that she was a little rusty, and the Tigershark still somewhat unfamiliar.

Weiss split-S, going into a dive. Vernal came after her, but the F-20 was quickly out of range, and her Sidewinders couldn't guide with the Sea of Japan reflecting back the day's heat. Instead, she pulled up at the same time Weiss did, turned with the F-20, and fired a Sidewinder. It failed to guide, thrown off by Weiss' rolls and a flare. Vernal closed the distance to open up with her cannon, but Weiss dived again, then pulled up into a hard break. Vernal cursed as she overshot, and Weiss settled behind the bandit.

* * *

Cinder was wondering if she had made a mistake—by getting up that morning. She fired a Sidewinder at the F-22—Salem's technicians had reverse engineered the all-aspect AIM-9L—but Pyrrha dodged it effortlessly. They went into a scissors, both trying to alternately throw the other out front or force them to break off, whirling, the advantage changing several times in mere seconds. Cinder finally had to pop the huge speedbrake on the back of the Su-27, not to force Pyrrha out front, but because the Raptor was coming dangerously close to ramming her. She retracted the speedbrake, but the F-22 suddenly seemed to tumble in front of her, and cannon shells whirred past as Pyrrha opened fire in mid-spin. Cinder climbed away, even as she felt the Flanker rock with a hit. She let the fighter drop backwards into a spin, playing possum, then, as the Raptor dived on her to finish her off, suddenly brought the Su-27 out of the spin, used the fighter's massive wing area to deaccelerate, and Pyrrha overshot. Cinder opened fire with her own cannon and thought she saw a strike, but if she had hit, the Raptor showed no signs of damage. Pyrrha broke hard right, and Cinder laughed out loud as she skidded behind the F-22, finally in a kill position.

* * *

Ruby had found herself fighting not just one, but three Mirages in the course of about fifteen seconds, and remembered Coco telling her that Emerald's last Mirage had been modified like Blake's _Gambol Shroud._ The problem was, neither Ruby nor _Crescent Rose_ could tell which one was which. She'd already fired off an AMRAAM to find it chasing a ghost. The only good thing was that Emerald was having no luck getting in behind her, as Ruby kept twisting away. Like so many dogfights in this strange battle of former acquaintances, they were evenly matched.

It was time, Ruby decided, to do something crazy.

She picked up the Mirage in a turn. There were two of them, but Ruby guessed that the lagging one was the hologram; Blake's projections tended to lag behind her F-14 as well. She threw caution to the wind and flung herself at the Mirage, even as Emerald turned into her. The wingroots of Emerald's fighter sparkled, and Ruby waited for the cannon shell that would end all of her problems. She didn't fire herself, but just kept coming on.

Emerald, for her part, also remembered something: Ruby Rose had rammed Cinder Fall at the Battle of Beacon. " _Madre de Dios!_ " she screamed, and pulled up. Ruby's snap shot with her gatling cannon missed, but she twisted and got in behind the Mirage, its glowing afterburner a perfect heat signature.

Then she saw something just for a half-second out of the corner of one eye: Cinder's Su-27 sliding into perfect parameters for a fatal gun pass on Pyrrha. Her brain processed the eyeblink, and Ruby, before she'd consciously realized it, broke off the climb, rolled away, did a half-loop, and fired an AMRAAM at Cinder.

Cinder's finger was caressing the trigger when suddenly her RWR went off. She saw the missile boring in and rammed the stick into her right knee so hard it hurt, engaging thrust vectoring at the same time. The AMRAAM lost the lock and spun off, and Cinder took a deep breath. _God, that was close!_

Then her canopy splintered.

Cinder felt rather than heard the twenty millimeter cannon shell pass by an inch from her left ear inside the helmet, miss her shoulder by even less, and pass through the windscreen, leaving a hole there as well. She rammed the stick into a dive, which saved her life as Pyrrha sliced more cannon shells through the sky she'd been in, tearing away a few inches off the left tail of the Su-27. Pyrrha overshot again, narrowly missing her opponent; she'd been close enough to make out the marking on the back of Cinder's helmet, which was what she'd been aiming for. " _Skata!"_ Pyrrha shouted in rage.

Cinder reversed her turn as she pulled out. She had to put some distance between her and the maddened Greek. Then she saw Vernal's F-5 cross in front of her, followed by Weiss' F-20. "Maybe I've been dancing with the wrong partner," she said. One finger switched back to AMRAAMs; another fired.

* * *

Vernal had run out of tricks, and Weiss knew it. She was firing her cannon, the twin 20 millimeters in front of the cockpit actually a bit easier to aim, and Vernal kept dodging. What the bandit didn't realize that Weiss wasn't trying to hit her: she was herding Vernal into Sidewinder parameters.

She saw the missile a fraction too late. Instinctively, Weiss turned away from it, which ensured the missile hit her tail rather than right in the center of the F-20. The AMRAAM exploded a millisecond later.

The force of the explosion threw Weiss forward in her straps. The entire tail flew up and backwards, along with one of the horizontal stablizers, throwing the Tigershark into a spin. A glance into the rearview mirror showed nothing but flames.

Yang, in her own desperate fight with Mercury, saw the F-20 turning into a torch. "Weiss!" she screamed. "You're on fire! Get out of it! _Get out of it!"_

Weiss heard the warning, and knew there were only seconds before the flames reached the fuel tanks. The spin was causing the horizon to roll around madly, clouds and sky switching places with the water. She braced herself as best she could, reached down for the eject handle between her legs with both hands, thinking _Colonel Montero is going to be so pissed_ as she pulled the handle.

The F-20 exploded.

The force of the explosion knocked Weiss unconscious. The ejection seat had fired at the same time the explosion happened, and it sent the seat tumbling end over end. Somehow, the fireball did not consume her; she was saved by the nomex fire-resistant flight suit and her helmet. Her oxygen mask was torn away, and then the seat separated, but that was what it was designed to do. As the seat tumbled away, it pulled lanyards free and Weiss' parachute deployed automatically. The _whumpf_ of the 'chute opening brought her back to consciousness. She blinked, and felt something warm trickling over her lips. Dazed, she brought up a gloved hand to her nose; it came away bloody. Then she looked down.

One leg looked fine, though the foot was dangling weirdly. The other was twisted at an odd angle, the foot ninety degrees off kilter. _That's very odd,_ Weiss thought before the black curtain of unconsciousness returned, _I can't feel my legs._


	38. Into the Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ruby's unit deals with the shock of losing Weiss, Cinder and Raven go for the vault at Tsushima. They're both in for a surprise, and so is Adam Taurus at Ashiya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time, unfortunately. The next phase of the battle is going to be fairly involved and three-sided, so adding this chapter to that one would probably involve a huge post. So I'll go for this smaller one. I intend to work on this chapter a little more over the weekend, so if I get it done early, I'll post it early.

_Ashiya Air Base_

_Fukuoka Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Adam Taurus took off from Ashiya, Moonslice having been fitted out with missiles in record time. He climbed hard, popping flares just in case there was an enterprising JGSDF soldier on the ground with a shoulder-fired SAM. At about 5,000 feet, he leveled out, dipped a wing, and did a lazy circle over the base. He could pick out the White Fang below getting into position, but there were no indications of roadblocks, or any sort of defensive barricades, or much of anything. Ashiya was deserted.

He took the Moonslice up another ten thousand feet and headed southwest. The nearest other airfield was Fukuoka Airport, about ten miles away. As he flew in that direction, he saw the lights of police cars and fire trucks, and traffic jams of civilian cars south and east of Ashiya Air Base. No one was being allowed near the base.

Adam keyed his mike. "Moonslice to Deer Six. Hold position at the airfield."

Deery's voice came back unsure. "Moonslice, confirm? We have met no opposition."

"That's because this looks like a trap. Hold your positions." He unkeyed the mike before Deery could reply, and continued his flight.

Adam was over Fukuoka in less than five minutes. He maintained his altitude, but he could see the airport hadn't been evacuated. In fact, he could see the T-4s evacuated from Ashiya among the dozens of airliners parked there. He dropped down to get a better look. "Deer Six, Moonslice. Did anyone on the team see what airliners the Belladonnas hired? Type and livery."

"Wait one, Moonslice." Adam tapped his fingers impatiently on the throttle as he orbited Fukuoka. No airliners were landing or taking off. Other than the T-4s and a group of CH-47 Chinook transport helicopters, there were no military aircraft that he could see. He considered strafing the Chinooks, but held off; he might need his ammunition. Finally Deery came back online. "Moonslice, Deer Six. The Belladonnas hired two L-1011s from Oceanic Airlines."

"Blue fuselages?"

"Roger."

Adam got a little lower and made a knife-edge pass over the airport. The three-engined L-1011 was distinctive, and the two at Fukuoka both had blue fuselages. "Son of a bitch," he breathed, and immediately turned northeast, dropping back to five thousand feet. He found the main highway between Fukuoka and Ashiya, and what he expected to find: a military convoy of trucks, covered by armored personnel carriers. "God _damn_ Ilia," he snarled. "That fucking whore sold us out." He hit the radio button again. "Deer Six, Moonslice. It's a trap. The Belladonnas beat us here. They're about five miles south of you." He did some quick mental figuring. "I'd say about 500 strength." It was larger than his force by a fair margin, and they would have the JGSDF backing them up.

"Understood." Deery was keeping herself under control. "Do we pull out?"

"Hold position," Adam ordered. The White Fang were outnumbered, but they could still do some damage. "Set the charges around the tank farm and the hangars, and barricade the roads. We'll see how long we can hold." He figured they could fight for three hours, which was long enough to do some real damage. The JASDF's fighters were still far to the north. "I'm going to even the odds a bit."

Adam climbed, turned, shed a little airspeed, and then did a quick sweep with his radar. He only picked up four contacts: two slow ones approaching from the northeast, and two faster ones coming from the southwest. The northeast contacts were about forty miles off, but he guessed they were probably C-130 transports bringing in JGDSF reinforcements, possibly paratroopers. He could take them out at his leisure. The two faster ones were probably fighters, but they were seventy miles out. He'd strafe the column once or twice, head north, destroy the transports, then turn and kill the fighters. A quick refuel and rearm at Ashiya, and back in the air. He smiled. They could still pull this off, even if Ilia—and possibly Salem—had sold them out.

Then his radar warning receiver lit up. He was being targeted. A warning shrilled in his helmet, and his eyes went to the threat display on the upper right of the instrument panel. RADAR burned red. He began jinking hard, dropping chaff in his wake, but the RWR showed the missile closing the distance rapidly. Finally, after a hard break that left him gasping, even with the G-suit, the RWR showed the missile had lost lock, and the threat display went dim. _Seventy miles?_ he thought in confusion. _There's nothing that has that kind of range!_ He glanced up and saw the missile curving well above him, leaving a thick white smoke trail. _Wait. Except a Phoenix missile…but that means…_

"Adam from Blake," his radio crackled in his helmet. "You wanted me so much. Here I am."

* * *

_Over the Sea of Japan_

_Near Nishinoshima, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Ruby firewalled the throttle, broke off from Emerald, and climbed. "Ruby to Catseye! Weiss is down! Scramble SAR, repeat, scramble SAR!" She radioed the position, then rolled inverted. _We've got to get control of this._

She made a quick scan of the sky. Cinder's aircraft was curving away from the smoke trail that was the funeral pyre of Weiss' F-20, but there was no guarantee she might not come back and strafe Weiss in her parachute—after all, she'd tried to do that to Pyrrha. _Speaking of which…_ "Pyrrha, Ruby, cover Weiss!"

"But—"

"That's an order!" Ruby shouted. Technically, Pyrrha outranked her, but she had to get the Greek woman's head back in the game. Pyrrha had been so consumed with rage and the desire for revenge that she'd lost control of herself, and her flight.

Next Ruby found Oscar. He'd climbed out of his fight with the GRIMM, who were descending to join the others that Ren was trying to fend off. Nora and the A-9—Ruby wished she had time for a closer inspection of _that_ rarity—were in a low-speed knife fight, while Qrow and Raven were also stalemated: Raven wouldn't allow herself to get drawn into a turning fight with the F-117, while Qrow refused to engage her in the vertical. By the crisscross of missile trails, they'd expended several shots at each other, but both designs were stealthy and had defeated radar shots. Yang and Mercury were having trouble as well: the nimble little A-4 was giving Yang fits, but he couldn't keep up with the F-23. Vernal's F-5 was orbiting, looking for a target.

_We've got to break this, somehow._ Ruby knew what she had to do. "Pyrrha, cover Weiss," she repeated. "Oscar, join up with Ren against the Beowolves. Yang, I'm coming down. Qrow, keep Raven occupied."

"More the merrier, sis," Yang replied. Ruby dived _Crescent Rose_ back into the fight.

* * *

Raven had come to the same conclusion. She'd fired three missiles at Qrow, and none had guided, unable to get enough of a return off the F-117's design, or spoofed by Qrow. Raven had to admit that her brother had actually gotten better since she'd left Strike Flight. Then again, so had she.

As much as she wanted to finally rid herself of her brother—and all the memories he brought—Raven knew that wasn't what they were there for, and fuel was a concern: the Night Raven burned a lot of it. "Cinder, Vernal," she radioed. "Join up on me. We need to go for the objective, not deal with these idiots."

"Understood," Cinder replied, which surprised Raven a little. "Mercury, Hazel, Emerald: stay here and hold them off with the GRIMM. When we've secured the objective, bug out for home. Kill them all if you can."

"Roger that!" Mercury acknowledged for all of them.

Raven shot past Qrow, slammed to the throttle to the stops, and accelerated away. In less than fifteen seconds, she was supersonic; thirty seconds after that, she'd surpassed Mach 2. Cinder growled to herself and took off in pursuit, while Vernal struggled to keep up.

* * *

Ruby and Yang joined up. Almost as if they'd agreed to it, Mercury and Emerald had done the same. _Here we go,_ Ruby thought to herself. There would be no quarter asked and none given. "Bandits, twelve o'clock level," Ruby called out, a little unnecessarily.

"I got 'em, Ruby. Mercury's passing between us!" Ruby saw the Mirage break away and down, but Mercury flashed between the F-16 and F-23, too fast for anyone to get a shot. Ruby craned her head, trying to keep him in sight.

"Ruby, check nine!" Her head swiveled back as Emerald popped up—or at least one of her did, since there were three Mirages now. But only one of them fired, and a Sidewinder headed her way…for half a second. Then it suddenly climbed, its seeker head malfunctioning as it optimistically but hopelessly engaged the sun. The Mirages went past, but Ruby marked the one that had fired. _Got you now._ "Yang, cover me!" She racked the F-16 into a punishing 8-g turn, skidding and praying Mercury was still out of position. Ruby swore; Emerald had anticipated the turn to the left, and was already curving away into a dive, ruining Ruby's sight picture.

And then Ruby realized her opponent had made a mistake. "Yang, the rightmost Mirage is the real one! Swat her!"

"Roger!" Yang took a quick glance behind her tail—Mercury was coming in, but he wouldn't be a threat for another second or two—and dived after Mercury. The heavier F-23 quickly caught up. The hologram Mirages suddenly vanished, then reappeared, and now Yang wasn't quite sure which was which.

Ruby dived after her, ignoring Mercury, and squinted. Dimly, barely she could see the shadow of the Mirage against the water. The holograms didn't give off shadows. "Yang, center!" was all she had time to yell. Behind her, Mercury's A-4 closed in. She kept her attention on the Mirage, knowing the enemy behind her was setting up for a Sidewinder shot, but determined not to let Emerald get away again.

Yang blinked as sweat ran into her eyes. Her infrared sensor was growling, indicating she could fire a Sidewinder of her own, but she had no idea which Mirage it was seeing; like _Gambol Shroud's_ decoys, each hologram had a flare on the end of a thin cable. "Fine," she mused to herself. A quick switch action went to AMRAAMs, and Yang fired.

Emerald, who was trying to keep track of a battle in four dimensions, was now trying to level out just above the water, hoping that Yang would get target fixated and fly into the sea. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw the flash of a missile launch, let loose a horrible Spanish oath, and broke right. Abruptly, she realized that her RWR had not gone off: Yang had fired the AMRAAM ballistically. By breaking, she'd slowed down—and now Yang was in gun range.

"Oh shit," Emerald said.

"Gotcha." Yang opened fire. The M61 gatling cannon spit over a hundred shells in under ten seconds, chewing through the Mirage's right wingroot, then into the rear fuselage. Flame erupted from the latter. Emerald hauled the aircraft into a climb, braced herself, and ejected a second before the right wing tore away from the Mirage. It did not explode, but spun into the water. Emerald's parachute deployed, she got one good swing, and then she was in the ocean. Yang avoided a similar fate by mere feet, her engines leaving wakes on the surface.

Then Mercury fired. He'd actually overshot a little, and realizing he was too close for missiles, he'd switched to guns. Ruby dodged, enough to change Mercury's target picture from a guaranteed kill to only a potential one. Three cannon shells hit _Crescent Rose's_ left wing, tearing off the wingtip missile rail, holing a flap, and leaving another shot through the wing itself. Mercury only sighed, and stayed with Ruby through the turn; his A-4 could nearly match the F-16 in turn radius.

Then Mercury himself became a target. Pyrrha had orbited Weiss' descending parachute, but could sit on the sidelines no longer. She broke off, crossed the distance in seconds, and dropped in behind the A-4. "Shit!" Mercury yelled, as tracers zipped past his aircraft. He dodged, ruining his attack on Ruby, but then saw Yang's F-23 climbing towards him. "Fuck this!" he yelled and dived for the water, pulling out just above the waves and heading north.

"Let him go!" Ruby ordered. "Yang, Pyrrha—go after Raven and Cinder! We'll clean up here!"

"I've got the lead!" Yang called out, and headed south in afterburner. After a second's hesitation, Pyrrha followed.

* * *

Emerald bobbed in her lifejacket and watched Mercury fly off. She really couldn't blame him; three against one when two of the three were two fighter generations newer was a prescription for getting shot down. _Like me,_ she sighed to herself. Luckily they _had_ made provisions for this before they'd taken off from Vladivostok: the Malachite Gang would send out helicopters to retrieve her. Assuming they got here before the JASDF.

She shivered. The water was cold, though not the killing cold it would've been in winter. As long as she wasn't in it for longer than an hour, she should be all right. At least she didn't have to worry about sharks…she hoped.

Then she saw a flash of white in the water. She bobbed up on a small wave and saw it was Weiss Schnee; it wasn't her hair, but her helmet. There was red in the water around her, and Emerald saw her slowly turn over on her side. Her lifejacket hadn't fully inflated, and all it was doing now was drowning her.

Emerald hesitated. There was no reason to help Weiss Schnee. She was an enemy, someone who deserved to die. Cinder or Mercury would swim over just to hold her head under. It would be one less person to face in the future.

"Dammit!" Emerald turned over onto her chest and swam for Weiss just as the other woman's head dipped beneath the waves. She quickly grabbed her and pulled her head above the water, then tucked her arms beneath Weiss' shoulders to keep her upright. Weiss coughed out seawater and her eyes fluttered. "Whozzit?"

"Me," was all Emerald could think to say.

"Oh, okay." Weiss smiled dreamily. She was clearly in shock. Emerald thought the legs out in front of her didn't look right; one was bent at an odd angle. "Thanks," she murmured.

"Um…don't mention it." Emerald shook her head. She wondered why she was even doing this, even if it did feel strangely like the right thing.

* * *

_Near Kuroshima, Tsushima_

_Nagasaki Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Cinder and Raven had slowed down to let Vernal catch up; it would do no good to reach the JINN vault if there was no Maiden around who knew the code. Cinder had invited Vernal to take the lead, then dropped in slightly to the right and behind the F-5. Not surprisingly, the Night Raven had taken up exactly the same position behind the Su-27.

Vernal consulted the navigation display, which was far more advanced than on a normal F-5. "Kuroshima ahead. We'll turn northwest at the island, cross the Mitsumashima Peninsula and Toyotamachi Bay, and land at Watatsumi airfield. Cinder, concur?"

Cinder had provided the location of JINN, through Lionheart, and consulted her own map. "Concur. You have the lead." She paused. "Are you nervous? I think you're the first Maiden holder to ever open this vault. Probably the first human being since Ozpin. Quite exciting. Don't you feel honored?"

"I don't care," Vernal answered. "All I care about is my tribe. This is a burden, not an honor."

"Stay focused, both of you," Raven snapped. She kept scanning the sky, as much as she could through the limited visibility of the Night Raven's cockpit, and the rearward facing camera. "Something tells me Qrow's bunch hasn't given up." She knew Qrow's F-117 was strictly subsonic, and would never catch up in time. Pyrrha Nikos' F-22 was another matter, and so was her daughter's F-23, if they got past Cinder's unit.

"Oh, come on, Raven," Cinder chided. "Let her enjoy this. It's a once in a lifetime experience."

They flew over the green, craggy island and over the bay. "Target in sight," Vernal reported. There was an observatory ahead and below, on Mount Eboshi. The vault was just below it. Vernal dropped her flaps to slow down. "We'll have to circle around and land from the west."

"You know," Cinder said casually, "I've heard so much about you, Raven. They say you're a superb fighter pilot, and a great leader—cunning and smart."

"You can kiss my ass on the ground," Raven snarled back.

"It's not that," Cinder said. "It's just a shame they're wrong."

Too late, Raven realized the Su-27 had slowed as well. A flare dropped from the large boat-tail between the engines and ignited nearly in Raven's face. She screamed in pain and instinctively turned to the right, blinking to try and clear the spots from her vision.

Cinder noted the movement. Vernal was reacting, the flaps coming up, but she was too slow. Cinder raised the speedbrake on the back of the Su-27, slowing her aircraft even more and letting the F-5 edge ahead. Then she opened fire with the 30 millimeter cannon, tracking the shells into the engines first, then marching them up the fuselage. The F-5 turned into a torch, breaking up even as Vernal tried to climb, then exploded. Cinder broke away to dodge the falling wreckage, closing the speedbrake, and to her surprise, saw an ejection seat rocket out of the fireball. It rose on a high trajectory, then the seat separated from the pilot; the parachute streamed, then opened. As Cinder flew a bit closer, she could tell Vernal was hanging limply from the 'chute. She extended out a little, then flew back, setting the crosshairs in the HUD on Vernal's body. "Sorry. Nothing personal."

Her RWR went off. Cinder saw the missile heading towards her, broke off her attack, and dived. The RWR went off; it had been a hasty missile shot. Cinder rolled and leveled out; above her the Night Raven flew past the parachute. From the way it was flying, Cinder could tell that Raven was still at least partially blinded; she remembered that the Night Raven had a primitive version of DUST, in that the pilot could verbally order the aircraft to fire. "Not bad," Cinder complimented her, as she climbed and turned. "I thought I'd have time to kill Vernal before finishing you off."

"You're a fucking idiot," Raven replied, her voice pained. "Now you can't get into the vault, you stupid ass."

"The idiot is you," Cinder laughed. "Watts lied. You don't need both codes. Only one."

"A goddamn trap," Raven said bitterly. "You never needed us. You just wanted to eliminate the Spring Maiden from play."

"We can't use the Fall Maiden as of yet," Cinder replied, "but Salem wanted to make sure that the Spring Maiden wasn't in the hands of a small-time air pirate. So after I kill you, I'll land, get JINN, and leave. The Spring Maiden won't be in anyone's hands, which is satisfactory to Salem. After all, the Maidens were built to stop her, and that would leave only two left." She paused. "Or will it? I suppose I'm being too hasty to gun Vernal in her parachute. Her bracelet might still work. Given that she was nice enough to eject and knock herself out in the process." She tightened the turn, knowing the Night Raven could not turn with the Su-27.

"Pretty good plan," Raven told her. "I'm going to point out the flaw in it, though."

"Oh? Please do."

"Vernal never controlled the Spring Maiden." Raven suddenly accelerated, faster than Cinder could follow, then climbed, rolled out, and dived again so she was meeting the Su-27 head on. _"I do!"_


	39. When Worlds Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle concludes as Nora faces off with Hazel, and Blake and the Menagerie Faunus with Adam and the White Fang. 
> 
> Oh yes, and then there's the Maidens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the end of the Battle of "Haven." Sorry this is a little later than I hoped, but Thanksgiving...you know how it is.
> 
> Those hoping for an epic Blake vs. Adam dogfight are going to be disappointed, I'm afraid. One, I want to save that for later on, and two, I already feel wiped out writing the rest of the battle-the conclusion of the GRIMM/Hazel fight, and naturally the fight between Cinder and Raven. I think you'll still be pretty satisfied for what does happen.

_Over the Sea of Japan_

_Near Nishinoshima, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

It was times like this Lie Ren wished he had chosen a different line of work. _Farming,_ he thought to himself. _Farming sounds rather peaceful. Fresh air, healthy work, and a nice home to come back to at the end of the day._

Of course, Ren thought to himself, if he screwed this up any more, he was going to be buying a farm of a different kind.

The five GRIMM he'd engaged—all Beowolves—had done something he hadn't anticipated. Normally, GRIMM, especially Beowolves, just attacked with no programming for self-survival. Someone had altered these drones' programming, however, because they had gone into a Lufbery Circle; Ren recognized it from the training at Beacon. A Lufbery Circle, so named for its inventor, an American World War I ace, was when aircraft—in this case, the Beowolves—went into a defensive circle. It sounded ripe for a shooting gallery, but any attempt to break the circle to kill one GRIMM exposed Ren to the fire of the four others, who could either fly in behind him, or cut across the circle. After two passes of nearly getting his tail shot off, it was time for a different tactic. Ren, like so many other fighter pilots on both sides this day realized he was trying to play the game by his opponents' rules. He was also distracted by constantly checking for Nora, who was having no luck gunning down the A-9; of course, it wasn't having much luck either.

Ren had an idea. He adjusted his third dive at the circle to fly alongside of it for a moment, then suddenly turned away, engaging his afterburners. A quick glance behind showed his idea had worked: the GRIMM sensed a target, broke out of the circle, and came after him. Ren accelerated, getting out of the Beowolves' range, and as they began a slight turn to the left—undoubtedly detecting Nora's presence—he turned around in a hard turn and came straight at them. The Beowolves' electronic brains were briefly confused by the sudden reappearance of a new target, and before they could react, Ren was already firing an AMRAAM. One of the GRIMM vanished in an explosion, and he was past the formation before they could react. And, Ren saw to his vast pleasure, his turn was putting himself into a superb position to get behind the A-9.

* * *

Hazel Rainart was, he admitted to himself, getting a little furious.

Neither the A-9 nor the A-10 was built for dogfighting, and though both aircraft were carrying Sidewinders, neither really had the speed to extend and get far enough away from the other to really use them. The result had been an inconclusive, five minute long knife fight, with each pilot trying to turn inside the other to use their huge gatling cannons to kill the other. He smiled wanly at the sight of the A-10 as they passed close enough to easily see each other: Hazel noted that his opponent was female, filled out her flight suit nicely, and had written BOOP in pink letters over the nose above the snout of the heavy GAU-8 cannon. He decided he would have to chance it: Hazel advanced the throttles to the stops, hoping that the other pilot wouldn't notice until it was too late.

Nora, for her part, did notice the move, and mumbled curse words in three languages as she accelerated herself: she'd been thinking the same thing. She jerked the stick to the right; at low level, not even a F-16 could turn with an A-10. Then, out of the corner of one eye, she saw Ren's J-10 curving in to get behind the A-9's tail. "Yeah, get 'em, Ren!" she crowed; Nora wasn't above sharing. She expected him to fire his AMRAAMs, but Ren's speed was too high, and he was closing to use Sidewinders. As she curved around to keep both her lover and her opponent in sight, Nora suddenly knew what was about to happen. "Ren, _no!"_

Hazel had spotted the J-10 coming in behind him. Like the A-10, the A-9 had a straight wing. In modern air combat, straight wings were a throwback to World War II; swept wings were built for jets. The problem was, at low level, straight wings were actually an advantage, because they provided for more lift in thicker air. And if a F-16 could not turn with an A-10 at low level, a J-10 could not turn with an A-9, either.

Hazel turned hard, grunting as his G-suit squeezed his big body, came out facing Ren directly, and opened fire.

Ren had practiced dogfighting Nora enough that he realized what was happening, and though he was a fraction too late, the sudden dodge was enough to save his life. The hail of thirty millimeter shells mostly missed, but it did not take more than a few of the depleted uranium slugs to do fatal damage. Two of the shells tore through _Stormflower's_ engine; two more took off most of the tail. Warning lights came on all over his instrument panel, and Ren knew it was time to step out. He didn't curse, just sighed, shook his head, braced, and pulled the ejection handle. The canopy separated and Ren, unlike Weiss and Vernal, had a clean ejection. He watched dejectedly as his J-10, which had taken him through so much at Beacon and elsewhere, glided into the ocean and exploded.

" _REN!"_ Nora screamed. She saw her lover get out, but she was still terrified: she knew Cinder's bunch might shoot at parachutes. She spotted the A-9 turning in her direction, and flung _Magnhild_ towards it, gritting her teeth. The two went straight at each other.

"How many more children must die for you, Ozpin?" Hazel sighed, and pulled the trigger. Nora, a fraction slower, pulled the nose up and held on.

The shells struck the A-10 just behind the gun barrel and marched down the length of the aircraft, pulling slightly to the right. They missed the gun, but hit below the cockpit, through the left wing, into the left engine, and into the left endplate of the tail. Nora grabbed the stick with both hands as it was threatened to be knocked out of her hands; the sheer impact caused the nose to go up and the Warthog to stall. The titanium-armored tub the cockpit sat in had been rated only to 23 millimeter, but it somehow held against the impact of Hazel's gunfire. Two shells went straight through the wing, holing a fuel tank, while the left engine failed and then tore itself apart, shredding the "can" it sat in but missing the rest of the aircraft; the left rudder was half torn away. _Magnhild_ wallowed and fell out of the sky as Hazel swept past. He threw the pilot a quick salute for her bravery as he did so, then flew on, searching for new targets, watching the GRIMM take up station far to the right, still in formation. Then a smoke trail suddenly connected with a Beowolf, and it exploded. Hazel craned his head back and to the left, and saw a F-18 diving in behind the GRIMM.

* * *

Oscar had gotten a little turned around in the confusion of the dogfight; he knew now why fighter pilots called it a furball. Rather than get in the middle of Yang and Ruby's fight with the A-4 and the Mirage, he'd headed north to gain a little separation, then turned back into the fight, crammed on the power, and dropped down to help Ren and Nora. He'd been too late to stop Ren getting shot down, but as he saw the Beowolves angling towards the stricken J-10, he locked onto one of them, only for his own RWR to come alive. A quick look behind: the two Beowolves he'd thought he'd lost earlier were coming in behind him, and Oscar thought they looked even angrier now. Oscar decided to ignore them: he'd get at least one of the damn GRIMM ahead of him before the other two got him. He fired an AMRAAM, expecting to see the telltale smoke trails of missiles behind.

Instead, as his own missile destroyed one of the Beowolves in front, one of the ones behind him disintegrated, and the other broke away. "Qrow to Oscar; you're clear, kid." Oscar wanted to cheer as he saw the ungainly F-117 fly past the burning GRIMM, then go past his left wing to engage the other two. Two missile shots later, and two of the three remaining were on fire and going down.

Oscar set up for a shot on the remaining one, only to see the other Beowolf behind him suddenly swing back over to reengage. "Dammit!" he yelled, and broke as it fired. Cannon shells sailed past like little fireballs, and Oscar tightened the turn, trying to remember if Beowolves could turn with Hornets. Then it became a moot point, as the GRIMM exploded much like its erstwhile brother had.

"Ruby to Oscar! You're on the last one—swat him!" He saw the F-16 holding high and understood; Ruby had shot the GRIMM off his tail. He was suddenly seized with the ardent desire to kiss her somehow, but instead turned back into the fight, locked onto the last Beowolf, and added it to the day's toll. Suddenly the sky was clear.

"Splash…five?" Oscar said in wonderment. With a rush of adrenaline, he realized abruptly that he'd made ace on his first combat mission.

* * *

Hazel saw the last of the GRIMM go down and shook his head, more annoyed than afraid. He got the A-9 down low, only a few hundred feet above the waves, and headed for Japan. He'd lose his pursuers in the mountains of Honshu, then head for the secret divert field on the north part of the island, where a handful of Salem's people were waiting, as they'd been waiting for Raven and Vernal when they'd secretly landed there a few days before. Assuming his opponents simply didn't let him go; they had to be low on fuel. He throttled back himself for the same reason; the A-9 was already painfully slower than his opponents, but at low level, he'd already demonstrated that was more of a help than a hindrance.

He was so busy watching above and to his right, where the F-117 and the F-18 were, that he didn't check directly behind. Movement caught his eye, and he finally looked in that direction—into the eight barrels of Nora's GAU-8. "How—"

Nora had shoved the stick into the instrument panel and applied as much right rudder as she could, fighting the A-10's tendency to pull towards the dead engine. It had come out of the stall barely above the waves, and she'd made the turn, to see the A-9 flying away. She angrily rammed the throttle forward, threatening to burn out her remaining engine, and caught up. _"Go DOWN,"_ Nora hissed, and pulled the trigger.

The A-9 was nearly a tough an aircraft as the A-10, but even it could not survive the onslaught, as Nora systematically sawed off the single tail. Flames blossomed from the bisected fuselage, and Hazel ejected, becoming the fourth and last parachute in the sky. Nora flew under him, once more fighting to keep the Warthog in the air, but not so much that she didn't flip him off as she did.

* * *

_Ashiya_

_Fukuoka Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Adam Taurus began to laugh. "Blake! To think that I went through that much trouble to find you, only to have you deliver yourself to me."

"This isn't going to work, Adam," Blake told him. "That group of trucks down there are filled with Faunus—the Faunus volunteers from Menagerie."

Adam dipped a wing. The trucks were almost to the police cordon; they were ten minutes from the airbase. "Volunteers. Not much more than a mob of people. You've got, what, maybe one out of ten are trained soldiers? The rest are dockwockers, repairmen—"

"They're _Faunus,_ " Blake interrupted. "My parents, Sienna, even you claim to fight for the Faunus. And now you're going to order the White Fang to fire on their own brothers and sisters? Parents, maybe even children?"

"They'll obey orders." He climbed and orbited, looking for her. The sky was filled with fat cumulus clouds, a few gray with rain. He kept his radar off for now, to keep himself hidden; the Moonslice was a small target.

"Will they? Ilia didn't. The team that the Albains sent to kill my mother at Abbotsinch didn't. It's one thing to talk about killing your fellow countrymen; it's quite another to actually do it."

"I don't have a problem with it." Adam quartered the sky. She was here, somewhere.

"It's because you're a psychopath. Maybe you weren't always, but you are now."

"I'm going to find you, Blake!" Adam shouted. That had struck a nerve.

"You will," Blake agreed. "And you might even kill me. But there's no escape, Adam! Not for anyone! Even if you get me, you still have to fly somewhere. You've got the fuel to make Korea, but no further. I know the range of the Moonslice. You stay and fight me, and you'll never survive. You may kill me, the White Fang may fight, but they'll be overrun. And sooner or later, the entire JASDF will get down here. How far will you get, Adam, before they run you down?" Her voice became pleading. "For God's sake, Adam! How many people have to die before you realize you've lost! You lost before you even left Lossiemouth! We _knew_ you were coming to Ashiya! While you were flying across Russia and China, we came over the pole! We barely beat you here, but we beat you!"

_Salem,_ Adam thought. _She betrayed us. She told the Japanese. We were nothing more than a diversion for her true objective on Tsushima._ _Our purpose is just to draw the Japanese off while Cinder Fall and Hazel Rainart attack Tsushima, and she doesn't care if we die._ "The least I can do is kill you," he snarled. "You're alone. Come out and fight and we'll settle this."

"She's not alone." It was a new voice, a masculine one, not Yang Xiao Long—not that he expected her ever again. This time, Adam saw something flit through the crowds, and turned towards it. It was a F-18, in the light gray of the US Navy.

"And who is this?" Adam demanded.

"Sun Wukong is the name, air combat's my game."

"Does Blake make all her squadronmates fight for her?"

"Naaah," Sun said flippantly. "This is a volunteer gig."

Adam saw the Hornet leave the clouds again, made a sudden turn, and fired an AMRAAM. Sun dived away, towards the ground, leaving behind clouds of chaff; the missile was confused and flew into the side of a hill. Adam rolled in behind the F-18, only to have his RWR go off as Blake locked onto him again, this time much closer, though he still couldn't see her F-14. He went into a hard break, causing Blake to lose him, but as he kicked the tail around, he saw the F-18 climbing to reengage. Adam glanced at his fuel gauge. It was already down by a third. At Beacon, he'd been able to dogfight because he'd had external tanks until he'd arrived at the base, and the White Fang had reoccupied Roman Torchwick's old hideout at Mountain Glenn as a temporary fueling stop. Neither existed now: if he tried to land at Ashiya, either Blake or Sun would shoot him out of the sky on approach, when any aircraft was at its most vulnerable.

"Adam." Blake's voice was flat, emotionless. "Run."

Adam's fingers tightened around stick and throttle in rage. To stay was to die, and Adam Taurus, in the end, was not ready to die.

He dived to just above the ground, firewalled the throttle, and headed out to sea.

* * *

"Tally-ho on the Moonslice!" Sun called out. "Eleven o'clock low, heading out over the ocean."

"Sun, Blake," she replied, then hesitated. She could see the Moonslice through the nose-mounted TCS' display in the cockpit. Her own fingers tightened on the trigger. Then they relaxed: against the sea return, her AMRAAMs would be confused where the target was, and the problem with the Phoenix was that it was never designed to be used against high-performance fighters. She pushed the radio button. "Sun, Blake. Let him go."

"Blake, we can take him!"

In her mind's eye, she saw Sun in a terminal dive, on fire, the same way Yang had been over Beacon. Blake shook off the mental image. She wouldn't take the chance. She wouldn't let Sun take the chance. She couldn't lose another friend to Adam. "Let him go," she repeated.

"Blake, you're making a mistake," Sun warned, but the F-18 broke off the pursuit.

"More than likely," she sighed.

* * *

Deery didn't see the Moonslice fly off; Adam had been too low. She was seeing trucks stop on the roads in front of her, out of range of all but her machine guns, and she wanted to wait on those, to let the JGSDF get close, to make them think the White Fang were poorly armed. "Hold fire," she reminded her troops. "Stay under cover."

The White Fang had found cars in the parking lot and pushed them together, forming barricades. They had a handful of claymore mines set in the gaps; each one would send a hundred ball bearings outwards at high speed when they exploded, killing or maiming all in their path. Deery would let the Japanese forces get within a hundred yards before she opened fire. The streets were wide, and hemmed in by buildings; they were perfect kill zones.

She picked up her binoculars. "Snipers, stand by," she spoke into the radio mike at her throat. She had placed snipers in the control tower and atop the hangars. "Go for the officers when you see them, but hold you fire until I give the word." Then she looked through the binoculars.

To her surprise, they were not JGSDF. They were Faunus. They were dressed in fatigues, but it looked like British Army surplus, the same thing that the Menagerie Defense Force wore. All of them had weapons, but from the way some of them handled their weapons, they were clearly not used to them. A huge Faunus stepped out of the back of one of the armored personnel carriers—which were painted in JGSDF colors, but their crews made no effort to turn in the White Fang's direction. Deery zoomed in: it was Ghira Belladonna. He began organizing his Faunus into loose companies, and they began marching forward. It was not a very disciplined march, but there were a lot of them.

"It's…it's Faunus," the wolf Faunus next to Deery said. "They're not Japanese troops!"

His words rolled down the line, as other White Fang started noticing their opponents. Deery saw her troops begin to look at each other, then at her, for reassurance. "Hold your ground!" she shouted. She wished Adam was here; Deery wasn't sure if she had his ability to inspire.

"I think…that's Mata!" One of the sheep Faunus to Deery's left looked to her, eyes wide. "God, no! I can't fight my own brother!"

"Quiet!" Deery shouted. "Quiet! Hold the line!"

The Faunus and Ghira Belladonna stopped about 500 yards away. Then they heard the sound of turboprops getting closer and louder. She looked up. Two C-130s flew overhead, well out of small arms fire range. Neither wore the camouflage pattern of the JASDF, but an overall dark gray. "Paratroopers," the wolf Faunus said. "They'll drop behind us."

"I suppose…" Deery's voice trailed off as the first of the C-130s began a slow left turn. Without warning, flame licked out from the aircraft's side. For a second, she thought the transport had caught fire, but then the noise of ripping fabric reached her ears, followed by a rhythmic thumping. The 707, parked half a mile behind them, disintegrated, erupting in an explosion as it was hit by twenty millimeter rounds and forty millimeter shells. Deery snatched up her binoculars and looked. It wasn't a C-130 transport at all.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "Gunships. Those are _AC-_ 130s."

The wolf Faunus swallowed audibly, especially as the second one began its orbit. The guns were now aimed at them, at the barricades. "Where's Adam?"

"He's…I don't know…" Deery felt lost. She had teams with Stingers, but not many, and she wasn't sure they would even help.

"What are your orders?"

"I...I don't..." She felt lost, unsure, with her own death staring right at her.

The wolf Faunus made a decision. He climbed up on top of one of the cars, raised his rifle over his head, then tossed it to the ground in front of him. The other White Fang hesitated, then did the same. Deery fell to her knees and began to cry.

The White Fang surrendered without a shot being fired.

* * *

_Over Mount Eboshi_

_Tsushima, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Raven Branwen and Cinder Fall faced off with a closing rate of over a thousand miles an hour, both sides holding their fire, both sides daring the other to break first. It was Cinder's nerve who gave first, and she broke right. Raven, knowing her Night Raven could not turn with the Su-27, broke left and climbed, rolled, and dropped in behind Cinder. She switched to guns and put the gunsight pipper on the back of Cinder's head.

Once more, however, the other woman had baited a trap. Cinder counted one full second, slammed the stick into her right knee and stomped the right rudder pedal. The Su-27 seemed to disappear out of Raven's gunsight, and she swore as she overshot, throwing the Night Raven into another left roll and climb. Both pilots made a complete circle and ended up going directly at each other again; neither had anticipated the quickness of the other, fired their guns too late, and missed. Raven and Cinder reversed their turns, and found each other going head-to-head for the third time. Cinder managed to get off a few shots from her cannon, but succeeded only in grazing the Night Raven's wings; Raven didn't bother trying. "All right, you fucking bitch," Cinder growled. She pulled the throttle back and the nose up, shedding airspeed as they entered their fourth head-on pass, to force the overshoot.

Raven noticed the move, and knew she was being forced to fight on Cinder's turf, just as Qrow had been trying to do—a maneuvering fight the Night Raven could not hope to win. She threw her aircraft into a climb, at a speed the Su-27 could not hope to meet. In seconds, she was ten thousand feet higher than Cinder, daring the other woman to follow her.

Cinder smiled behind the oxygen mask. "Oh, no, Raven," she said. "I know your weakness." She made a lazy turn, found Vernal still descending in her parachute, and headed for her.

" _No!"_ Raven shouted, and dived. Cinder, who had kept an eye on the Night Raven, saw it coming down, waited, then made another hard break to the right—but almost as suddenly reversed her turn. As Raven pulled out of her dive, a quick kick of the rudder pedal finally put Cinder where she had been trying to be since the fight started, a long 45 seconds prior—right behind the Night Raven. "Goodbye, Spring Maiden," Cinder spoke, and her finger tightened on the trigger. They were far enough apart for her Sidewinders.

Raven knew she had made several mistakes so far in this dogfight, and her next move might be her last. In a blur of motion, she took her left hand off the throttle, reached up, and flicked two switches above it. Four speedbrakes opened above and below the fuselage.

To Cinder, it was as if the Night Raven had simply stopped in front of her: it went from the length of one finger to filling her windscreen in a single second. _"Mother of God!"_ Cinder screamed, and pushed the stick forward to dive underneath the Night Raven, clearing its ventral fins by less than two feet. Raven was already closing the speedbrakes, pushing the throttle forward, and shoved her own stick down. Cinder was now well ahead. Raven didn't even pull the trigger. "Sidewinder missile fire," she ordered. One of the side weapons bay doors opened and closed in a moment, kicking out a single AIM-9, which ignited and tracked on the Su-27's tailpipes. Cinder rolled and dived, leaving flares in her wake; the Sidewinder missed.

_This fucking bitch is good,_ Raven mused to herself. She throttled back a little, knowing Cinder would have to come out of the dive and climb, since the alternative was to dive into the side of Mount Eboshi. Raven switched back to guns; both her Sidewinders and AMRAAMs would not be able to pick the Su-27 out of the ground clutter and heat of the forest. As she climbed, Cinder broke to the left this time, but Raven, anticipating that, did not try to turn or overshoot. She climbed again. _Come on,_ Raven thought. _I know your weakness, Cinder. You're impatient._

She was right. The Su-27 came out of its turn and climbed after her. Raven put herself in the younger woman's flight boots: she would let the Night Raven continue to climb, switch to radar-guided missiles, and fire. The problem was, Cinder's radar would not be able to get a lock on her stealthy opponent. She would get frustrated and dive away to reset the situation, and when she did, Raven would use the heavier weight of the Night Raven to dive on the Su-27 and finish it. Raven glanced at the rearward facing camera display, saw the other fighter beginning to falter, and pulled the stick back into her lap. The Night Raven rolled over on its back. Cinder had dived into a split-S, and Raven fell on her like an avenging angel from on high, coming out of the sun. Raven rolled her wings level, dived just slightly past her opponent, pulled up, and found herself in the best position possible: below and behind the Su-27, in its blind spot. She closed in for the kill.

Cinder looked around frantically, knowing that the Night Raven was behind her and she was about to die. In desperation, she pulled the stick back, engaged the thrust-vectoring, and pitched the Su-27 backwards. The aircraft audibly groaned over the sound of her hard breathing, as wing spars were stressed to the maximum; she'd done this manuever in practice, and Salem's engineers had told her doing it in combat, with external stores and more than minimal fuel, was asking to tear the wings off. It also meant that, if Raven was anywhere but nearly on top of her, she'd just made herself the easiest target in the world.

The problem for Raven was that she _was_ nearly on top of Cinder. The sudden pitch-up did the same thing to Raven that the latter's speedbrake extension had done to Cinder: it killed her airspeed, and the Night Raven overshot, flying beneath her. Worse, the thrust-vectoring was such that Cinder simply continued the pitch up, doing a full loop almost within the length of the aircraft, and ended up behind Cinder. Raven was cursing herself for an idiot—she had completely forgotten that the Su-27 had thrust vectoring—and hit her afterburners to extend out of range. She was too late: Cinder had already switched to heat-seekers. "Got you!" she shouted in triumph. The twin glowing exhausts of the Night Raven were perfect sources of heat, and her Sidewinders were growling in her ears, eager to be let loose.

Then something else was resounding in her ears: the Su-27's radar warning receiver. Cinder hesitated, wondering if the Night Raven could somehow fire missiles backwards, but then saw on her threat display that the radar spike was from behind her: two AMRAAMs were headed her way. She engaged her own afterburners, but realized in horror that the sudden loop had left her without airspeed, and time. In panic, she jabbed the chaff button on the throttle and twisted the Su-27 to the left.

Her frantic maneuever actually worked—partially. One AMRAAM missed, flying past, locking onto the Night Raven for a fleeting moment before the radar seeker lost lock, and flew off into the sky. The other ignored the chaff and the turn; to its seeker head, the Su-27's radar return was as large as a barn. It impacted between the aircraft's twin tails, the fragmentation warhead detonating and sending steel fragments through both engines and the control surfaces. By a miracle, it missed the fuel tanks, but the Su-27 was doomed all the same: it nosed over, and all Cinder could see was the waters of Tsushima Strait rushing up to meet her. She reached for the ejection handles, then saw in the mirrors of the canopy what had shot her down.

It was a F-22. "Pyrrha Nikos," Cinder said aloud, and knew she was dead. If she ejected, Pyrrha would have no trouble gunning her in her parachute; the Greek girl had done it before. Her only chance was to ride the Su-27 down and somehow survive the crash—and then hope one of her opponents didn't gun her in the water.

She pulled back on the stick to bring the nose up; her instrument panel went dark, then came back on as the dying Su-27 dropped its ram-air generator into the slipstream to restore power. With no tails or horizontal stabilizers worth the title, the aircraft was almost uncontrollable, but somehow she got the nose up and dropped the flaps. It was still too fast. The last thing Cinder Fall heard was the tearing of metal as the aircraft hit the water at over a hundred miles an hour; the last thing she felt was the seat harness snapping and sending her helmet into the instrument panel.

And then there was nothing, nothing at all.


	40. The Hand That Rocks the Cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One battle is over, but another begins as Yang confronts Raven. Only one of them will enter JINN's vault. 
> 
> And whoever does is in for a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, a few days early on my update schedule for this. The muse struck tonight, though, and I'm not one to refuse her. I like how this chapter flowed, with two conversations between very different people, and very similar all the same. It's pretty sad, though I did manage to work a little humor in there.

_Aso Bay_

_Tsushima, Nagasaki Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Pyrrha Nikos throttled back as she flew low over the bay. She saw the Su-27 sinking out of sight, what was left of the rear fuselage the last to disappear beneath the waves. The canopy suddenly surfaced, and Pyrrha's fingers tightened around the stick. Yet no body came to the surface next to it, and the canopy, after floating for a few seconds, went under as well. She exhaled. _For you, Jaune,_ she thought as she pulled up and away from the bubbles that marked the grave of Cinder Fall.

The thought, to her surprise, brought her no joy.

She turned north and flew alongside Yang. In the distance, they saw the Night Raven land on the airfield north of Mount Eboshi. Raven was nearly at stall speed before she even crossed the threshold, and Pyrrha watched as the aircraft barely stopped in the overrun, the nose gear in the grass at the other end of the runway. It began to taxi onto the tiny tarmac there.

"Pyrrha, Yang," Yang radioed. "What do you think I should do?"

"Yang, Pyrrha…she can't get the objective."

"Strafe?" Pyrrha saw Yang looking back at her from the F-23's cockpit.

"If that's what you want. You have the lead."

"Pyrrha, state?" Yang asked instead.

Pyrrha glanced down at her fuel gauge. She had enough fuel to get back to Atsugi, but only just. Dogfighting and the supersonic run from Nishinoshima had used a lot. Of course, there were alternatives. "Bingo plus one. I'll get a tanker for us."

Yang smiled. Pyrrha would orbit above them. "Pyr…I don't mean to be a sore loser, but if she takes off without me giving the success code, gun her."

"Roger, understood." There was no emotion in Pyrrha's voice, only resolve. Raven would be very low on fuel, and Pyrrha Nikos would not make the same mistakes Cinder Fall had.

Yang turned west onto the downwind leg, leaving Pyrrha orbiting over Tsushima, and alone with her thoughts.

* * *

Raven watched the F-23 land. She turned back to the caretaker of the airfield—an elderly Japanese man who looked like he'd last flown in World War II. Her Japanese was not very good, but with gesticulating, a great deal of yelling, and one hand on her sword hilt, she got her message across. Luckily, the Night Raven had originally been designed by the Russians, which meant it was designed to be hand-fueled if necessary, with alternate fuel sources besides JP-5. Raven was fairly certain the aircraft would fly on grain alcohol.

Yang taxied in and found a place to park on the taxiway. The Japanese man groaned, wondering just what was going on. Yang hopped out of the cockpit to the ground, took her helmet off, and set it on the canopy frame. "Don't worry, old dude," Yang told the Japanese man, "I don't need gas. You just go on with what you're doing." He nodded, clearly not understanding a word, bowed a few times, and went to go find the fueling hose. "Hi, Raven."

"Yang. I suppose I should thank you for the assist." She pointed upwards.

"Wasn't me. That was Pyrrha. She owed that bitch payback for Beacon. Cinder killed her boyfriend. Granted, I would've fired if she hadn't." Yang stopped outside of sword-drawing range. "I think it's time we had that conversation we were talking about in California."

"Might as well." She motioned Yang to follow. The two women walked off the airfield, crossed a road, and followed the path past a shrine, before making their way up the side of the mountain. It was a densely forested one, though the path was not terribly difficult. The air was fresh, if salty and off the ocean, and a bit humid.

They were halfway up the mountain before Raven started to talk. "I warned you, Yang. I gave you every opportunity to walk away from Qrow and Ozpin's bunch. So you can believe me when I say this wasn't personal."

"Wasn't personal?" Yang laughed. "You lured my sister and me into a trap, plus every friend I have on the planet that doesn't live in North Carolina. You may not think it was personal, but Emerald and Mercury and Cinder and the fucking GRIMM sure thought it was."

"I knew you could handle it," Raven answered. "You _are_ my daughter, after all. As for Ruby, well…she's Summer's daughter. I'm sure she's fine."

"She was when we left. But one of my best friends may be dead." They walked a bit further. The observatory was in sight. "So how did you get control of the Spring Maiden anyway?"

"Turns out there were a lot of unemployed, half-starved former NASA people in California after everything went to shit. My parents took them on, and protected them. Then, after I came back to the tribe, with everything Oz told us, we used that team to hack the satellite. I imagine the Israelis were pissed."

"They don't know you took it?"

Raven shook her head. "Pretty sure the Mossad would've already killed me if they had. Ah, here we are." There was a chainlink fence around the observatory, with a gate, protected by a simple lock. "Give me a minute." Raven reached into a pocket of her flight suit and withdrew a set of professional lockpicks. She began working on the lock. Yang saw Pyrrha still orbiting slowly overhead. After a minute or two, the lock clicked open. Raven pulled off the heavy chain and opened the gate. _"Entre vous._ "

"After you," Yang insisted. Raven shrugged and walked through; Yang dogged the gate closed. The door to the observatory was locked, with signs in Japanese, Korean and bad English that the building was closed and condemned. Raven made short work of the locks on this as well—Yang was somehow not surprised that her mother was good at that—and they walked in. The entranceway smelled musty, and the carpet was half-rotted. They walked through it to a doorway. "You know your way around here?" Yang asked.

"Never been here before, but I bet I know where the vault entrance is." True to her word, after about five minutes of searching, Raven came to a locked door, marked with a faded sign that read in three languages AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. It had equally faded radiation stickers on it. Raven rapped her knuckles on it. It sounded very solid. "Now what would an observatory have that would be radioactive and require a heavy steel door?" She looked down and smiled. "And a keypad entry?"

"Sounds like we found the vault." Raven turned and found herself staring down the barrel of a .38 revolver. Yang was once more standing out of draw range of Raven's sword. Her grip on the pistol was steady.

Raven rolled her eyes. "Oh, now what's this? You'd shoot your own mother?"

"You're not my mother, remember? Besides," Yang added, "you wanted me to start asking questions. Well, now I am. So tell me…what happened to Amber Tardor, the last person to control the Fall Maiden?"

"Let me guess. Qrow told you."

"He and I had a talk, yeah. After I mentioned what had happened in California." Yang kept her finger off the trigger, but Raven was under little illusion that she wouldn't pull it. "You killed her, didn't you?"

"That's the question you wanted to ask?"

"The first one."

Raven shrugged. "Yes, I did. I found out about her, so I shot her down over Nevada. I knew the government would find someone else, but it would send a message to Ozpin to leave the Branwen Tribe alone. She never should've been out there, Yang. A Maiden holder should not be out hunting GRIMM. What I did—"

"Wasn't personal," Yang finished.

"Salem planned on capturing her. Given what she would've done, it was merciful."

"Merciful. Uncle Qrow told me that she survived the crash. He found her," Yang told Raven.

"I know. He rescued her before Salem's forces could arrive. I even picked a few of the GRIMM off for old times' sake. There was a red F-22 leading them." Raven's mouth quirked into a smile. "Cinder Fall, no doubt." She sighed again. "I imagine this Amber girl died in Qrow's arms."

"She was still alive when Beacon fell. According to Qrow and Pyrrha, _that_ was a mercy. Amber was dying by inches, kept alive by machines long enough until Ozpin found a successor. You did that to her, Raven. _You._ " Yang's lips peeled back in anger. "So which is it, 'Mom'? Are you merciful, or are you a survivor? Did you let us fly into that trap today because you knew Rubes and I could handle it, or because it meant you could get JINN?" She motioned with the pistol towards the door.

Raven did not answer for a moment. "It's not that simple," she finally spoke. "You don't know me, Yang. You don't know what I've been through, or the choices I had to make."

"You're right," Yang agreed. "I _don't_ know you. I only know the Raven Branwen that Dad told me about. She had her issues, and she was no saint, but she fought for what she believed in, whether it was Strike Flight or her country, and he still loves her...and believes she still loves him." Yang raised an eyebrow. "Did you kill _her_ too?"

Raven took a step forward, eyes blazing. "I'm not going to take that from you. I've stared death in the goddamn _face_ over and over again, Yang! And every time I've spit in that face and survived, because I'm strong enough to do what others won't!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Yang shot back. "You don't know the first damn thing about strength, Raven. You turn your back on people, you run away when things get too rough, and you put others in the shit instead of yourself. And you abandoned your own child. Not because you were sacrificing me for the tribe, Raven. Because you didn't have the fucking courage to raise me. Because I was a goddamned inconvenience." Tears welled up and fell down Yang's cheeks. "So you left me and Dad there holding the bag, because you knew Summer Rose's heart was big enough to love both of us. And you ran." She bit back a sob. "You know, I told Oobleck once that the reason why I became a fighter pilot was because I wanted to have fun saving the world. But it was a lie. It was a lie I told myself, and God, if I didn't manage to believe it. Then _this_ happened—" she held up her artificial hand "—and I realized that wasn't the reason. The reason was because I grew up thinking I wasn't good enough, and I've been trying since you left to _be_ good enough. I had to live with that shit. I wasn't good enough for Summer, because she disappeared. And I wasn't good enough for you, because you left me and you fucking _ran!_ "

Raven's hand went to the hilt of her sword. "Who the absolute _fuck_ do you think you are, lecturing me!" she exploded. "Standing there, shaking like a scared little girl?"

Yang noticed that her hand was shaking: she was holding the gun in her left hand, her real one. It wasn't shaking so hard that she couldn't thumb back the hammer. "Yeah," Yang said, her voice cracking. "Yeah, I'm scared. But I'm still standing here." It was Yang who took a step forward now, and to her surprise, Raven actually took a step back. Even with a shaking hand, at this range, Yang could not miss if she was blind. "I'm not like you, Raven. I won't run…which is why you're going to let me into that vault, and then you're going to fly away. Where, I don't give a damn. But you're going to fly away from here."

"Why in the hell would I do that?" Raven scoffed.

"Because you're afraid, Raven. You're fucking terrified of Salem." Yang's voice was steady, and the shaking in her hand stopped. "And if you thought controlling the Spring Maiden put a target on your back, imagine what she'll do when she finds out you iced Cinder and you've got JINN. She'll come after you with everything she has. And you don't have a friend in the world, do you?" Yang shook her head. "I don't think the CIA girl knows you killed her nephew yet. When she finds out, she might just _help_ Salem." Yang shrugged. "Or, you know…Salem can just come after me."

"You can't beat her," Raven warned. "A lot better than either of us has tried. God above, _Summer_ tried, and she disappeared."

"I don't care," Yang answered. She pushed the hammer back into place, but used the pistol to motion at the door. "Open it."

"You don't want to do this, Yang."

"Nope," Yang admitted, "but I'm gonna do it anyway. I'm stubborn. I get it from my dad."

"Yes," Raven said quietly. "Yes, you do." She walked over to the door, hesitated, then pushed a random series of buttons. The door clicked open with a hiss of depressurized air, and Raven opened it. The door was two feet thick, but was so well counterbalanced that Raven was able to pull it open with one hand. The interior was dark, so dark that Raven couldn't see much more than shadows and dim shapes. She knew with certainty that it was all she would ever see of the vault. She backed away.

"Now get out of here," Yang ordered. "I'll tell Pyrrha not to blow your ass out of the sky after you take off."

Raven nodded. She was defeated, utterly so; it showed in her face. "You remember Vernal," she said, her voice still quiet. "Cinder shot her down before she jumped me. She punched out, but right when her F-5 exploded. I think she's dead; I didn't see any response from her in her 'chute. She would've landed somewhere on this part of the island. If she's dead, then please give her a proper burial. If she's alive…" Raven looked at the floor "…tell her to find somewhere besides California, and to make a real life for herself, not the one I gave her."

"I'll do that."

Raven tentatively reached out an arm, then pulled it back. Tears ran down her face. "Yang…I…" she sniffed. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Yang replied softly. "Me too."

Without a further word, Raven turned and left. Yang heard the front door open and shut. She waited a few minutes, then leaned against the wall, next to the open door of the vault. She pulled out her survival radio, and dialed in the correct frequency. "Pyrrha, Yang, how do you read?"

"Yang, Pyrrha—strength four." The voice in the little speaker was tinny and staticky, but Yang could understand her.

"I've got it," Yang said. "Your signal is Aladdin. I say again, Aladdin."

"Roger, will relay. And Raven?"

Yang could not answer for a moment. "Pyrrha, Yang…let her go."

"Roger, understood." There was a pause. "Listening, out." Yang smiled at that. Pyrrha had sensed Yang needed some time.

Slowly, she slid down the wall. She set aside the survival radio and the revolver. Then, for quite awhile, Yang cried, burying her face in her knees, soaking her flight suit with tears. She cried for all the lost years, cried for one mother that had loved her so much, and another who loved her too late. She cried for her father and Ruby. She cried for Weiss. She cried for Jaune and Amber and Ozpin and all the other dead at Beacon. And she cried for Blake.

Finally, Yang could not cry any more. With shuddering sobs, she wiped her eyes, and stood, holstering the pistol. The observatory rumbled with something taking off; Yang could recognize the pitch of the engines, and it wasn't a F-22. She held onto the survival radio, took a deep breath, and walked into the vault. As she did so, the lights came on, activated by a motion detector. Yang expected some gigantic wall of monitors, or maybe a huge vault stretching into infinity, with herself standing on a little balcony. Instead, there was a comfortable looking computer chair, a keyboard, a mouse, and a huge television screen. Next to the mouse was something that looked a little like one of the GameBoys Ruby had been so obsessed with as a kid, though a bit larger and far more advanced.

"Well," Yang said. "That's kind of underwhelming."

She jumped as suddenly the television switched on. It was dark for a moment as it warmed up, and then on the screen appeared a woman from the waist up—except she was blue, from head to toe, with pointed, elven ears, and a gold band across her forehead and a gold choker around her neck. She was also naked, with a lot more anatomical detail than Yang would've thought appropriate. "Good evening," the figure on the screen said, with a voice that was mechanical and yet feminine. "I am JINN. What may I do for you?"

Yang found herself laughing. It was an odd sort of laughter, but Yang was glad for it; it felt like something heavy was lifted off of her heart. "You're serious. You're JINN?"

JINN nodded slowly. "I am indeed. What may I do for you?"

"Wow," Yang said, grinning, "so who made you?"

"I was commissioned by Captain Oscar Ozpin, United States Navy. I was built by the Cray Computer Company in the state of Virginia, and programmed by Netscape Systems of Colorado Springs, Colorado, as well as Sony of Japan."

"No, no…who made you…naked?"

JINN's projection smiled. "My appearance is reminscent of the genie in the story of _Aladdin and the Enchanted Lamp._ Captain Ozpin believed that the use of the feminine would make people more likely to listen to me, while my nudity would get people's attention." JINN paused. "If you find my nudity offensive, I have a censoring function. Would you like to engage the censoring function?"

"Nah." Yang stepped forward, shaking her head. "Man, Ozpin must have been lonely."

"He was," JINN told her. "My female form closely approximates the measurements of the woman he loved."

Yang sat in the chair and leaned back. "Oh yeah? Damn…Mrs. Pine must have been mighty fine." She snickered at her own rhyme.

"I am not familiar with a Mrs. Pine," JINN said. "My appearance is based on Natasha Kukharchuk."

Yang's eyebrows beetled together in confusion. "Who the hell is Natasha Kukharchuk?"

"Salem," JINN answered.

* * *

_Misawa Air Base_

_Aomori Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Rissa Arashikaze reached across the desk and switched off the radio. "Aladdin. Entirely appropriate, considering what's in that vault."

Leonardo Lionheart nodded. "It's good news, I suppose. What will you do with JINN?"

"Use it, as Ozpin intended. He never meant to keep that locked away forever."

"Some of what JINN knows, he very _much_ intended to keep locked away forever," Lionheart corrected.

Rissa shrugged. "Perhaps."

Lionheart folded his hands on his desk. "So. What happens to me?"

Rissa uncrossed her legs. The pistol had not wavered the whole time the battle had gone on. "That's a good question. You _did_ tell us the location of the White Fang's attack at Ashiya, as well as the fact that the GRIMM attack on Hokkaido was a diversion. I hated to throw Ruby and Norn Flights out there against Cinder Fall's bunch alone, but it was necessary to make them think we didn't know what their true objective was. You told us a lot about Salem's operation as well."

"I told you everything I know. Salem is very comparmentalized when it comes to information."

"Given her background, that's not surprising." Rissa looked at him, and he was mildly surprised to see remorse in her eyes. "However, you're the one who 'vetted' Cinder, Emerald Sustrai, and Mercury Black, allowing them to get into Beacon. You were also the one who gave Salem a great deal of information about _our_ operations—the transmitter in North Dakota, for instance, and where to hijack that F-22 that Cinder used. And that Amber Tardor was operating out of Las Vegas. A lot of red in your ledger, Leo. Too much that your actions lately will not wipe it out. Not even what happened to your daughter changes that, I'm afraid. You sold out to Salem, Leo, and a lot of mutual friends are dead because of it."

Lionheart nodded. "That is true. Which means a court-martial on charges of treason, among many others. The Lionheart name will be dragged through the media. No one will remember my wife or my daughter as the brave women they were, just that the husband and father who was the biggest traitor to the Crown since Guy Fawkes."

"I'm afraid so." Rissa stood, weighed the pistol in her hands, then set it down on the desk. "There is another solution." She pushed it towards him.

He stared at the pistol. "I could shoot you, and escape."

Rissa nodded. "You could. But where would you go? If the CIA doesn't find you, Salem will. And something tells me she'll want you alive. She learned her trade at Dzerzhinsky Square. I don't think you want that anymore than public humiliation." She leaned over the desk. "And to be honest, Leo, I don't think you want to shoot me."

"You're a brave woman."

"A brave woman would have figured out a different way to handle this," Rissa replied.

"So would have a brave man." He picked up the pistol. "No court-martial?"

"You will be hailed as a hero," Rissa told him. "A Faunus with a long and distinguished service to Queen and Country. Privately, to my opposite number in MI6, a deep cover agent working for me against Salem. A loving husband and a doting father."

Lionheart smiled. "That last part, at least, is not a lie." He held the pistol in his left hand and extended his right. "Goodbye, Rissa Arashikaze. Or whatever your real name is."

She smiled back and shook his hand. "Goodbye, Leonardo Lionheart…my friend."

He gave her one last nod. Rissa turned and walked out of the office, and shut the door. She waited until she heard a single gunshot, then pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One or two more chapters and this story arc is finished. Then it's moving on to "Season 6," with Argus and Brunswick Farms. Oh yeah, the Apathy will be showing up in this story, though as usual...it will be with a twist. And since we're going to "Argus," so will Jaune Arc's family...


	41. Where Do You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As everyone returns to Atsugi, Weiss and Emerald are rescued from the Sea of Japan. How badly is Weiss hurt...and will Pyrrha quit flying, now that Cinder is dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of "On RWBY Wings III," wrapping up most of the remaining threads of this story arc.

_The Sea of Japan_

_Near Nishinoshima, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

Emerald Sustrai shook herself, trying to stay awake, and checked her watch. The sun was starting to get very low on the horizon, and she'd been in the water for an hour. Even in summer, the Sea of Japan was cold, and she knew she was starting to suffer the first signs of exposure. The air battle above had long since ended, with the survivors headed back to their respective bases. It hadn't gone well for Salem's forces: Emerald had only seen Mercury manage to escape, though there was a good chance Cinder had managed to kill both Vernal and Raven Branwen; Emerald hoped so, anyway. She'd seen Hazel land in the water as well, but he could be miles away by now—assuming he was still alive.

She continued to hold Weiss Schnee's head out of the water. Weiss had gone in and out of consciousness, and even when awake, didn't quite seem to realize where she was. Emerald checked the other woman's pulse. It was still there, but it seemed weaker. She wondered if Weiss had internal bleeding somewhere.

Finally, as Emerald threw saltwater into her face to keep herself from drifting off again, she heard the thrum of helicopter blades. To her surprise, they seemed to be coming from two directions at once, though sound carried strangely over the water. The question was, who was it? Before they had taken off from Vladivivostok, the portly head of the Malachite Gang—known only as Lil' Miss—had informed them that anyone who got shot down over the Sea of Japan could expect a rescue, but only if there were no enemy aircraft around.

Emerald though the louder sounds were coming from the east, so she looked in that direction. In the twilight, she saw lights of a helicopter. "I guess it doesn't matter," she said aloud. "We've got to get picked up or we're both going to die." Keeping one arm around Weiss, Emerald brought up a slightly waterlogged leg and pulled a pen flare from a strap around her ankle. She twisted the top of the flare, pointed it towards the lights, and touched a button. The flare sputtered and then fired with a sharp report that startled her and woke up Weiss. It ignited, bathing the area in bright red. Emerald tossed the used flare aside and grabbed another one, but it wasn't necessary: the helicopter turned in her direction. Her heart sank a little: it was a JASDF UH-60 Blackhawk, painted in white and yellow. Still, it would beat being in the water any longer; at least prison would be warm.

Then she saw the lights of another helicopter, approaching from the west. This one was painted black, making it nearly invisible in the twilight, and it looked like a fat bug, with two main rotors instead of the more common main rotor and tail rotor combination. It stopped short of them and hovered; Emerald recognized it as an ancient Kamov Ka-25, and given its paint job, it was undoubtedly from the Malachites.

The JASDF helicopter stopped over them, its rotorwash blowing cold water into their faces. Weiss blinked. "Emerald?" she said, recognition flooding her face. She had not noticed who it was to this point. "Emerald Sustrai?"

Emerald did not answer and waved with her free arm as a rescue sling was lowered from the helicopter. The Blackhawk descended more, and a wetsuited diver jumped into the water next to them. He swam over, grabbing the sling. Emerald remembered something Weiss had babbled earlier. "Weiss!" she shouted. "Can you feel your legs?"

"I'm…I'm not sure…" Emerald reached down, got a bit of Weiss' right thigh between her fingers, and pinched hard. _"Ow!"_ Weiss shouted, adding a bit of angry German behind it.

The diver got to them. "She's got two broken legs!" Emerald yelled over the rotorwash. "I don't think her back is broken! Might have a concussion!" The diver nodded, and made hand signals to the lineman above them. The sling was pulled back up, and a rescue basket lowered into the water instead. As gently as he could, the diver got Weiss into the stretcher. Emerald squeezed Weiss' hand. Weiss squeezed back as she was pulled upwards. Emerald treaded water as until the other pilot was safely aboard, then looked at the diver. " _Anata wa eigo o hanashimasu ka?"_ she asked, one of the few phrases of Japanese she knew.

"I speak English!" the diver yelled back.

Emerald pointed to the Ka-25. "That's my ride, okay?"

The diver nodded. "Good luck!"

She smiled back, turned, and began to swim. Her limbs felt like lead, and after a few strokes, the diver began to help her. A rescue sling was dropped from the Ka-25, and the diver helped Emerald into it, then gave a thumbs-up to the Malachite lineman above them. Emerald was finally dragged out of the water, and the diver swam back to the UH-60 to be picked up. The two helicopters then flew away from each other, the pilots giving the other a nod, both sides having decided without a word that there had been enough killing for one day.

Emerald helped the crewman pulled the sodden flight suit off of her; she didn't wear much beneath it, but modesty was a small price to pay for getting warm. Blankets were piled over her, and she smiled as warmth began to leach into her body. Even better was the hot thermos of tea pressed into her hands.

"So," a voice rumbled. "You survived."

Emerald turned and saw Hazel huddled in the corner, covered in blankets as well.

* * *

_Naval Air Station Atsugi_

_Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan_

_21 June 2001_

"Yes!" Ruby cheered, jumping in the air. "Nora! Nora!" She stuffed her cell phone into a pocket of her flight suit, then ran from her F-16 to the battered A-10. Nora came out from under the nose, her crew chief looking as morose as she did. _Magnhild_ would once more be headed for some time in the repair shop, but once more, the tough Warthog had survived another battle. It occurred to Ruby that, of both Ruby and Juniper Flights, Nora and Blake were the only ones who still had the aircraft they started Vytal Flag with. "They picked up Ren and Weiss!"

Nora immediately brightened. "Are they okay?"

"Ren is. No problem there. Weiss…" Ruby winced. "Weiss got busted up, but she should make it. They're bringing them to the naval hospital at Yokosuka."

"Well, hot damn!" Nora hugged Ruby with rib-bending force. "I knew I was right in flying back here!" Ruby grunted in pain and Nora let her go. She couldn't help but grin, though. Now she knew why Nora was so strong. Despite the terrible damage to the A-10, she'd insisted on flying back all the way to Atsugi, rather than risk being potentially away from Ren. Ruby also suspected there was pride involved too: Nora hadn't even declared an emergency, despite having one engine out, one rudder little more than a ragged hunk of metal, and barely enough fuel to reach home.

It must've shown in her eyes, because Nora nudged her, slapping the holed left wing of the Warthog; Ruby was sure she could stick her head through the cannon hole.. "No sweat. How's _Crescent Rose?_ "

Ruby sighed. Her beloved F-16 was also going to end up back in the repair bay too, where it seemed to be spending a great deal of time. One wingtip looked as bad as Nora's rudder, and the wing wasn't much better. She'd also managed to get home; luckily, the damage looked worse than it was. "Guess _Magnhild_ is going to have some company." Ruby heard bootsteps and turned. "Well, well! Nora, look! It's Ensign Ace in a Day!"

"Seriously?" Nora ducked under the wing of the A-10 and ran up to Oscar Pine, who had finished postflighting his F-18 and was walking over. "Cute boy _Oscar!"_ She glomped him, to the point where she forced all the air out of his lungs, and he gasped. Then she picked him up. "Ace in one hop? Ace in your first _combat?_ You are _good,_ kid!" Nora conveniently forgot that she was barely two years older than Oscar. She set him down and Oscar leaned against the A-10, trying to suck in air. "Now all we need is Pyr and Yang!"

As if summoned, they heard jet engines, and a few seconds later, the distinctive, otherwordly shapes of the F-22 and F-23 flew over, then curved into the downwind leg. Ruby was surprised: she'd expected Yang to do a hard break over the base, probably throw in a victory roll in the process. Then again, she and Pyrrha were probably pretty low on fuel themselves. "C'mon, guys!" Ruby yelled, and began running across the tarmac.

* * *

Pyrrha and Yang taxied in and parked at the remotest part of the tarmac; there were already a small group of armed guards waiting next to Qrow's F-117. All three aircraft were stealthy, of course, and in the case of the Raptor and the Black Widow, brand new; they warranted being guarded. Yang followed the glowing wands of the ground crewman, then shut down the engines and leaned back in the seat, letting out her breath in a long sigh. It had been a very long day. She opened the canopy, pulled off her mask, and took off her helmet as the ladder was placed against the F-23.

Qrow came up the ladder. "You okay?" was the first words out of his mouth.

"I'm fine," Yang answered tiredly.

"Raven?"

"She's alive. Probably halfway to California by now." It was an exaggeration; unless Raven had a tanker hidden away somewhere, she'd have to find a hidey hole to land at. The problem was, Yang knew, Raven almost certainly had such hidey-holes all over the Pacific. Yang motioned at a box about the size of a household computer printer, sitting on her legs. "JINN," she explained quietly. "The mobile version. She's pretty chatty when you switch her on."

"She?" Qrow asked.

"Tell you later." He helped her unstrap, and took the box, climbing down the ladder first. She barely had time to turn around before Ruby tackled her. Yang staggered back. "You're okay, Sis!" Ruby yelled, but she was mystified as to why Yang began crying into her sister's shoulder.

* * *

The next morning, Pyrrha Nikos was sitting in a lounge chair on the verandah behind the VOQ. As a reward for not getting killed, all the pilots of Ruby and Norn Flights had the day off. Pyrrha was dressed casually, in shorts and a tank top that proclaimed loudly EUROPEAN HEALTH BATHS. She couldn't recall ever going to a place called European Health Baths, and she wondered if she'd accidentally borrowed it from Yang; since it fit over her height and larger-than-average bosom, Pyrrha strongly suspected it was indeed the blonde's. She stared into the sky, twirling Jaune's dogtag between her fingers. It was a beautiful, clear day.

The patio door opened and shut, and Ruby walked out with a yawn. "'Morning, Pyrrha."

"Good morning," Pyrrha returned. "Sleep well?"

"Mm-hmm." Not long after Yang had landed had come the word that the White Fang had surrendered at Ashiya. It wasn't quite all good news—they'd learned later that Adam Taurus had managed to escape—but a win was a win. "Did you?"

"Fairly well."

"That's good." Ruby fell into the chair next to Pyrrha. "Oh, hey, Fuji's out! Cool!"

Pyrrha smiled; it took genuine effort to stay depressed around Ruby Rose. "Have you heard anything about Weiss?"

"They operated on her last night, but she's going to be okay." _I hope,_ Ruby added to herself. "They're supposed to call us when we can go visit her over in Yokosuka." Pyrrha smothered a giggle; Ruby was pronouncing it Yoko Suka, rather than the correct Yokus'ka. "We're gonna _party_ when Weiss gets out!"

Pyrrha suddenly felt the black cloud of depression descend, and cursed herself for it. There was no reason to be depressed. In fact, there was every reason to be not only happy, but satisfied. "I shot down Cinder Fall," she said at length.

"Yeah, that's what Yang said. Nice going." Ruby held up a hand for a high-five, but Pyrrha didn't respond. "Pyr?"

The Greek girl didn't seem to hear her. "No ejection. I made sure. She went in. The crash was survivable, but she didn't come up."

"That seems exclusively beneficial," Ruby answered. She didn't understand Pyrrha's melancholy. She supposed there might be some guilt over shooting down another human being, but Cinder, in Ruby's opinion, barely counted as such. Some people were just better off being dead.

"Right," Pyrrha said. "So why do I just feel…empty?"

"Guilty?" Ruby asked.

"Not really. Cinder did almost kill Weiss, and she probably killed that F-5 pilot—Raven's wingman—and would have killed Raven…maybe. Yang's mother is one hell of a pilot. We saw the dogfight from a distance." Pyrrha flipped the dogtag around again. "I should feel wonderful. I've gotten revenge for Jaune. I killed the woman who killed him. I don't understand why I don't."

"Well…maybe because you've been so obsessed with it. Now that Cinder's dead, you don't know what to do with yourself." It made sense to Ruby.

"That's quite possible." Pyrrha sighed. "I screwed up yesterday, Ruby. I broke formation. I lost my temper. I jeopardized the mission." She ran her fingers over the dogtag. "I've been out here wondering if I should turn in my wings. Go home, back to Greece."

"What would you do?"

Pyrrha laughed softly. "That's just it. I don't know. All I ever wanted to be was a fighter pilot. I love to fly. I could get a job flying commercial easily, but flying along in a 747 is hardly a replacement for flying a F-16. Maybe if I live to retirement age, maybe then."

Ruby drew her knees up to her chest. Pyrrha suddenly realized Ruby was still wearing her pajamas. "Well, we could sure use you, Pyrrha. This thing isn't even close to over, you know. If you quit, it would just be a waste."

"Any idea where we're going next?"

"Not a clue. I doubt we'll be staying here. Given the buildup ol' Ironwood's doing in Europe right now, we might be headed there. Or maybe back to the States. I guess Arashikaze will materialize out of thin air to tell us, or something." She held out her hand. "Can I see that?"

"Certainly." Pyrrha handed over the dogtag, and Ruby stared at it for a long time. "Jaune was a good guy. I'm glad we got to burn a piano for him."

"So am I."

"Do you still have that message on your phone? I thought maybe Yang might want to hear it."

"Of course."

Ruby handed the tag back to Pyrrha. "Whatever you decide to do, Pyrrha, we got your back."

She smiled. "I know, Ruby. Thank you." Pyrrha took a breath and made a decision. It wasn't a hard decision; in fact, she wondered if she'd already made it long before she woke up that morning. If Jaune had been there, he would have agreed it was the best idea. "I suppose I'll hang around."

"Yay!" Ruby reached over and hugged Pyrrha, who was taken by surprise, though she supposed she shouldn't have been—she'd learned quite awhile ago that Ruby was a serial hugger.

The patio door slid open. "Whoa, did I interrupt something?" Yang grinned at them and held up her hands. "Don't ask, don't tell." Her eyes narrowed. "Pyrrha, is that my shirt?"

Ruby rolled off of Pyrrha to her feet. "I was just hugging Pyrrha because she's decided to stay on rather than go fly for the airlines."

"That's good," Yang said. "Flying commercial sucks." She idly inspected her fingernails. "Oh, by the way, Yokosuka Naval Hospital just called. Weiss is awake and as ornery as ever. Want to go bug the Ice Queen?"

"Do I ever!" Ruby pushed Yang back into the VOQ. "C'mon, Pyrrha! We can check and see if Ren's still alive too!" Ren was also at the hospital, for observation. So was Nora, who had loudly proclaimed she intended to do plenty of observation of Ren's anatomy. It occurred to Pyrrha that Ren might have been in more danger than Weiss. She got up off the chair, stretched, kissed the dogtag and put it into a pocket, and followed Ruby. Jet noise distracted her for a moment, and she looked up as a F-14 and a F-18 fly overhead in close formation. "The fleet must be back in," she observed, and went into the building.

* * *

_Herrencheimsee (Schnee Manor)_

_Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany_

_22 June 2001_

Winter Schnee replaced the telephone in its cradle. "Well, well."

Whitley Schnee looked up from the newspaper; it was the London _Daily Mail_. "What is it?" Both siblings were in the sitting room, which for most people would be considered a very large living room. He took a drink from his soda and finished it. As he set it down, he half expected Klein Sieben to come out of nowhere and whisk away the empty can before it barely touched the table, but Klein had been summarily fired after Weiss' escape. Whitley had never even aroused suspicion, and he knew it was because Klein had taken all the responsibility on himself.

"Our sister," Winter explained. "It seems she got shot down over the Sea of Japan in a battle yesterday."

"Is she okay? And _Japan?_ What's she doing there?"

"She suffered some injuries, but she should make a full recovery. That was her on the phone. As for what she's doing there, she was given orders to help the JASDF learn how to integrate DUST on their aircraft."

Whitley chuckled. "Oh, is that the excuse Ironwood made for Weiss going AWOL?"

"Yes." Winter kept her voice even. She had been upset at Weiss for risking her career, and proud of her for the moral integrity to do so. She hadn't been sure about Ironwood and Arashikaze's scheme of "detaching" Weiss to the JASDF, but the look on her father's face had convinced her otherwise.

"Must have been this big battle." Whitley held up the newspaper. The front page news was of the White Fang surrender at Ashiya, and the massive GRIMM attack on northern Japan that had been stopped cold. "It was all over the BBC this morning as well. I suppose that's it for the Fang, especially after they found ol' Sienna short a head up in Scotland."

"I hope so." Sienna Khan's death was the reason why Winter was even at Herrencheimsee, to inform her mother. There would be no more need for the front companies Willow had set up to pay protection money to the White Fang. Winter had been proud of her mother as well: Willow had broken out a bottle of schnapps to celebrate, then caught herself, and put the bottle away.

One of the household staff, a Faunus maid, walked into the sitting room. "Whitley, sir?" she said with a short bow. "Your father wishes to see you."

"About time." Whitley got off the couch, grabbed the soda can and handed it to the maid, and waved at his sister. "Well, I suppose I have to go see what His Lordship wants." He grinned. "You're smiling, Winter. Isn't that against regulations?"

Winter forced down the smile. "When the occasion merits, it is not."

"Why do I get the feeling that you've suddenly developed a desire to visit Japan?"

The eldest Schnee sibling instantly made her face a blank. "I have no idea what you're speaking about, Whitley."

"My arse." He said it in English, and walked off. The newspaper had fallen to the floor, and Winter bent to pick it up, and was handing it to the maid when suddenly she stopped, and stared. " _Mein Gott."_

"What is it, Miss Winter?" the maid asked.

Winter didn't reply, just looked at the article headline on page two. _AIR VICE MARSHAL LEONARDO LIONHEART, DECORATED HERO OF THE RAF, DEAD OF A HEART ATTACK AT 58,_ it read.

* * *

_Yokosuka Naval Hospital_

_Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan_

_22 June 2001_

Weiss Schnee handed the phone back to the nurse, then leaned back against the pillows in the bed. She winced, and the nurse instantly noticed. "Are you in pain, Captain?"

"Not really," Weiss lied. "I'll take some painkillers after my friends leave." The nurse nodded, did a quick check of her vital signs, and left. Weiss tried to get more comfortable, only for little tendrils of agony to make their way up her left leg. "Shit," she whispered between clenched teeth.

The door creaked open, a metal hand snaked out, and the lights flickered on and off as it played with the switch. "Weiss, Yang. How do you read?"

"Ugh," Weiss replied, but with a smile. "Five-by."

Yang stepped into the room, only to nearly be taken out by Ruby, who seemed to blur until she reached Weiss. Weiss held up her hands. "Stop!" she shouted, and Ruby froze in mid-hug. "Ruby, do _not_ hug me. I have an IV in my arm, a temperature gauge on my finger, a blood pressure cuff on my _other_ arm, and sensors and tubes where I really wish there were no sensors and tubes. I also look like hell."

Ruby reflected that Weiss was not lying: her hair was brushed out over her shoulders, but there were deep bags under her eyes; the scar under her left eye seemed more prominent than usual, but that was because her skin was more pale than usual. There was a bandage over the bridge of her nose, which was badly bruised. The hospital gown certainly wasn't flattering either. Ruby leaned over, carefully, and kissed Weiss' forehead. Weiss screwed up her face. "What in the hell, Ruby Rose? _Kissing_ me?"

"She was on top of Pyrrha earlier," Yang said, walking over to the other side of Weiss' bed. "I think there's something my sister needs to tell us."

"Don't ask, don't tell!" Ruby stuck out her tongue at her sister, then turned back to Weiss. "You don't look _too_ bad, Weiss. You look strong enough to wrestle a gundark."

"Ugh. It's too early to hear you quoting sci-fi movies." Weiss pointed at Yang. "And don't you _dare_ start with the puns. I have not missed that in the slightest."

"Ah, the Ice Queen's back," Yang laughed. She pulled up a seat. "So how bad did you get fucked up?"

"Love the bedside manner," Weiss quipped. "Well, let's see. I broke my left leg in two places and tore most of the ligaments in my knee. That's what I had to have surgery for, to repair those; otherwise, I probably wouldn't walk again. As it is, I'll likely have a small limp for the rest of my life, not to mention a lot of scars over what _was_ rather perfect legs. Won't Father be disappointed," Weiss snorted. She motioned at her other leg. "The right leg suffered a greenstick fracture. I also have a bone bruise on my nose from my oxygen mask being torn off, suffered a mild concussion and shock, and managed to get a mild case of exposure from being in the Sea of Japan for over an hour." Weiss shrugged. "Other than that, I'm fine." She didn't feel like telling them about Emerald Sustrai saving her life, not just yet.

"You going to be able to fly again?" Ruby asked, leaning over the bedrail.

Weiss rolled her eyes. "I've just outlined how I'm lucky to be alive, and the first thing that Ruby asks is if I'll be able to fly again. You really do have a one-track mind, you dolt."

"Well?" Ruby demanded.

Weiss smiled. "Yes. But not for a month, at the earliest, and possibly longer. The leg is going to need some rehabilitation."

Yang twiddled her metal fingers at her. "I know how _that_ goes. At least they didn't have to cut your leg off."

Weiss leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "I thought I'd broken my back. I couldn't feel my legs. The doctors said it was just shock, and a minor compression of the spine." She looked at Ruby. "Before you ask, I can feel my legs. Unfortunately, at the moment."

Yang motioned at the door. "You know, the package store is just down the street. I could get you a schnapps chaser for all those painkillers."

"I'd prefer if you left trying to kill me to Cinder Fall. Speaking of which—"

"Pyrrha got her over Tsushima. No ejection." There was no humor in Yang's voice, which had gone completely flat.

"And the objective?" Weiss asked cryptically.

"All secure."

"So. Mission accomplished, for once." Weiss sucked in her breath as she moved her leg, sending more snakes of pain up the nerves. Yang helped her settle her leg more comfortably. "That colonel in Tijuana is going to be very angry at me."

"We'll find you something else," Ruby reassured her.

"I was thinking a C-130," Yang put in, her smile returning.

Weiss' retort was cut off by a hesitant knock on the door. The nurse stuck her head into the room. "Captain Schnee? You have another visitor. It's not scheduled, but she said she'd like to see you, if it's all right."

Weiss wondered who it could be. She had a feeling Winter was going to fly out to see her, but unless Winter had harnessed warp speed, it wasn't her. "Who is it?"

The door opened all the way. "Um…me," said Blake Belladonna.

Weiss, Ruby and Yang all gaped at her in shock. Blake was dressed in her flight suit, and she'd clearly just come from flying. She stepped hesitatingly into the room, and the nurse closed the door. "I…I heard what happened," Blake said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sun and I…we were at Ashiya yesterday, when the White Fang…we flew over the pole from Menagerie, you see, and…and we ran Adam off, and…when I heard, we flew up from there this morning…" She stopped, her hands trembling at her side. "I…I didn't bring you anything…"

Weiss wiped her eyes. "You brought yourself. Come here, Blake." She motioned at Blake's sweat-stained flight suit. "But, uh…you'd better not touch anything."

Ruby came around the bed, tears drifting down her face. "Blake? Is it really you?"

"Y-Yeah," Blake struggled out, and then couldn't stop herself. She began to cry as Ruby tenderly hugged her. "I'm sorry," she struggled out through the sobs.

Weiss looked at Yang, who had not gotten up, and now was not even looking at Blake. "Yang," she whispered. "Remember what we talked about."

"Yeah." Yang got up and turned around. Blake looked at her, eyes bright with tears, and then fell on the artificial arm. The Faunus girl suddenly looked like she was going to vomit. "Oh _God,_ " Blake exclaimed, pushed Ruby back, and fled for the door. Her fingers had closed on the doorknob when an iron grip grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Blake closed her eyes, expecting the punch and hoping for it, but instead felt Yang's arms close around her. "Hey there, Blakey," Yang said softly. "Good to see you."

"Oh God, Yang. Oh my God." Blake put her head on Yang's shoulder and bawled. "I'm so sorry, Yang. I'm so sorry. I did that to you…oh, Yang, I'm sorry…"

"You didn't do this to me." Yang steered Blake back to the bed. They would need to talk, both women knew, and Blake had felt the tension in Yang's body. There was much to talk about. It could, however, wait. Ruby came over and put her arms around Blake, as Yang held her right hand. Blake reached out her left and took hold of Weiss' hands. She looked up, yellow meeting pale blue. "You look like hell," Blake commented, and Weiss started laughing. Then they all did.

Ruby Flight was together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends "On RWBY Wings III: Reaper Flight." Watch for "On RWBY Wings IV: Journey to the West" in a week! The story of Ruby Flight is far from over…


End file.
